Demon Dreams
by MarksandSpence
Summary: Spike decides to try his hand at "moving on" with a new Wolfram and Hart employee. She's human, but has an unusual rapport with the demon community about town. There might be an apocalypse. Ensemble cast. Reviews muchly appreciated. FINISHED.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Demon Dreams  
**Author:** Mad **Setting:** AtS Season 5; Begins after _The Girl in Question_, then AU.  
**Rating:** PG-13/T (sexual situations, minor violence and coarse language)  
**Summary:** Spike decides to try his hand at "moving on" with a new Wolfram and Hart employee. She's human, but has an unusual rapport with the demon community about town. There might be an apocalypse.  
**Format:** Screenplay (sort of)  
**Disclaimer:** As usual, ME owns Spike, Wes, Angel, Illyria, Lorne, etc. I just throw them together and write what they do in my head.  
**Feedback**: As always, want it, need it, love it! Don't make me beg!

Writer's note: Just something to keep in mind when you're reading this. The way to view this story is to see it as an one of many story arcs that would be going on in the show if you were watching it. I'm only showing you the "scenes" that are relevant to this arc and not really elaborating on anything else that is going on at the same time. So although other "events" are referred to, they won't necessarily be fleshed out unless they will ultimately contribute or tie in to the story that I'm focussing on. To give an example from the show, it would be like watching BtVS Season 3 and only seeing the scenes with Faith or in which Faith was discussed. Or seeing only the Willow scenes in Season 6 pertaining to her arc of magic addiction. Make sense?

Also, the story begins with a few rather erotic scenes. Don't be put off--there is plot lurking just under the surface, and will ramp up in subsequent chapters.

Chapter 1

Scene 1: A crowded bar. A fairly large space, with tables, couches on one end; pool tables at the other with a long bar running down the side and a small dance floor in the middle.

Spike is sitting on the arm of one of the couches, beer in hand, looking rather bored. He periodically glances around the bar, as if he's waiting for someone. A woman casually brushes passed him, slowing down on her way by just enough to say,

"Want to play pool?"

Without hesitation, he mutters "Yeah" and gets up off the couch to follow the woman. They walk to the rack with the cue sticks and she picks one off the wall and after giving it a once-over, hands it to Spike. She selects a second one for herself and grabs a piece of chalk, rubbing the blue powder over the tip.

"Nine ball?", Spike offers with an air of disinterest.

The woman nods and then adds "Maybe we should pick up a third. The tables are pretty full."

Spike shakes his head and with a smirk, "I'd prefer to humiliate you directly—after the lashing you gave me last week. 'think I got my eye back."

She can't help but smile as she gives him a sideways glance. "You think so, eh? Well, then. I guess we'll have to wait."

As he glances across the room at the crowded tables, "Don't you moonlight as a bartender here? When you're not working for the Evil Empire. Can't you just kick someone off?"

A quick frown crosses her face, "I don't work _here_. I bartend down at Harvey's on Spring Street. (She looks mildly annoyed, perhaps because she expected him to know this. She adds.) And it's not _really_ the Evil Empire anymore, is it?"

Spike shrugs "'matter of opinion. Empires are mostly always evil, despite their bloody mission statements. Besides, it's still a law firm. (beat) Harvey's. (Thinks about it a moment and then scrunches up his face in confusion.) But that's a demon bar."

Before she can respond, Spike's cell phone rings. He answers it, has a short conversation and puts it away again.

Explaining, "Percy. Change of plan. We need to get to some warehouse down on Riverside—there's a big rave going on there tonight and they're running shuttles from just outside this place."

She turns to put the cues back on the rack, "There're some underground caverns beneath it—I've overheard murmurings about it at the bar. Does Wesley think that's where the Re…(catching herself) thingamagig is?"

Spike just shrugs, looking a tad disappointed that the job hadn't, in fact, fallen through as he'd suspected when Wes didn't show up on time. They head to the door. Once outside, they find a long line of obviously rave-bound young adults waiting for the shuttle. They get in line and once the shuttle arrives, everyone pushes forward, but the progression is slow. Spike is behind her, their bodies pressed tightly together by the crowd. As they move slowly forward, he slips one hand under her arm and turning it over, runs it softly down the side of her torso, just brushing the side of her chest on the way down to her waist.

He leans in and whispers in her ear, seductively, "So warm."

She closes her eyes slightly. She feels her heart flutter at the feel of his body behind her and the gentle possessiveness of his touch. She takes his hand, which is now resting on the side of her waist, and moves it under her shirt just across to her stomach, so he can feel the true warmth of her skin. He hums a response, obviously pleased at her reaction. But then they're at the entrance to the shuttle and their embrace is disrupted. They climb on board and with no place left to sit, they stand next to each other, gripping the overhead bar for balance once the shuttle starts on its journey. After a few minutes, Spike breaks the silence by saying in an obviously suggestive manner,

"So what are we going to do _now_, since our pool game was interrupted?"

With a coy smile, she responds "What, after we meet Wesley? Hm. There's always _bowling_. (beat) Why, did you have something in mind?"

He moves in a bit closer and looking straight into her eyes, he shrugs "We could fool around."

She lets out a barely perceptible, knowing laugh. Instead of answering, she lifts her free hand up and touches the base of his neck, running her fingers downward to where the skin is pulled taught across his collarbone, pushing her fingers just under the fabric of his t-shirt. She inadvertently bites her lower lip. Spike grins.

The shuttle stops and they wait their turn to pile off. After some searching, they find Wesley—he sticks out like a sore thumb in the crowd.

As they approach, "You're not dancing."

With the closest thing to a smile Wesley ever divulges these days, he responds "I'd say it's not my kind of music, but there was a time when I'd dance to just about anything. Believe me, you're better off."

Spike: "Let's get this over with quickly, yeah? Where is the bloody thing?"

Wesley: "According to my sources, there's a cavern just beneath us. I imagine the Quill demons are intending to use it tonight, taking advantage of the energy of the crowd above."

Spike: "So what's the plan?"

Wesley: "Well, I'd say you and I create a diversion to lure off the bulk of the guards, while she sneaks by the remaining few to grab the Cup. (to the woman, D) Do you remember what it looks like?"

D: "Yeah. The one you showed me in the library the other day."

Wesley: "Yes. (beat) You sure you're all right with this? You look a bit nervous."

D: "Honestly, the crowd up here gives me the willies more than what's down below."

Spike: "Let's go, then."

They head to the cavern and things go roughly as planned. Spike and Wesley are busy fighting the guards while D walks sheepishly into the hall where some ritual is being preformed. She scans the room, looking for the Cup. There are four demons attending to the ritual. They obviously see her, but don't react. She spies the cup, which is sitting on a pedestal in the middle of the group. She tentatively steps towards it. When she is just about close enough to touch it, one of the demons grabs it possessively, as he turns to look at her. Looking at her, he says in a slightly panicked voice.

"I do not wish to give it to you."

She stands there a moment, looking around, sheepishly, at the other demons, thinking of how to respond. Finally she shrugs and simply says,

"But I want you to give it to me."

Looking pained, the demon reluctantly thrusts the Cup towards her. She looks surprised, as if she can't believe it was that simple. She takes the cup and mutters, absent mindedly, "thanks", before she turns to go. As she steps away, one of the demons blurts out "you're welcome" and promptly gets smacked by the one standing next to him. Once she clears the hall, she quickly navigates to the meeting point, where she finds Wes and Spike looking a bit winded, but not hurt.

Wesley: "You got it."

Spike: "You sound surprised."

Wesley: "I honestly didn't expect it to be this easy. I mean, it was worth a shot, but Quill demons are notoriously possessive of their artifacts. I'm rather shocked that it worked."

She hands Wesley the cup, shrugging. "It was just sitting there."

Wesley: "And the demons guarding it didn't bother you? Just like before?"

D: "Nope. They ignored me, like I wasn't there. I was able to just grab it."

She's not exactly sure why she decided to stretch the truth a bit there. Maybe it would sound a bit too bizarre that the demons just handed it to her after she asked. It's close enough to what happened, right? No harm done.

Spike: "Great, so we're done then?"

Wesley: "Not quite." Spike makes a face, and passes a quick, frustrated glance to D. "I need to take this to a specialist downtown to get a certificate of authenticity before we can deliver it to our shaman contact."

Spike: "Certificate of authenticity? What is this, bloody e-bay?"

Wesley: "Long story. But it will safest for everyone if we get it done tonight."

Spike: "But you can take care of it from here, right? You don't need us."

Wesley: "I'm happy to get the certificate, but I'd prefer to have some back-up for the hand off. You never know who might show up in circumstances like this."

Spike: "Why not give ol' W&H a ring—I'm pretty sure they have a goon-on-call service."

She can't help but smile at his impatience.

Wesley: "I'd prefer to keep it a bit more _intimate_ than that."

D: "Can you arrange the meet to be back at the club where we were before? Spike and I could go there now, have a look 'round until you get there. (looking over at Spike) I know _I_ could use a drink."

Wesley: "Good. I'll make the call. See you there in an hour or so."

Spike: "Fine. Push off. See you at the bar."

He stalks off. She follows after giving Wesley a slightly apologetic look.

They arrive back at the club. It's quieted down some since they were there last and they're able to get a space at the bar. They order a couple of drinks (tequila) from the bartender.

Spike: "So, you never quite answered my question back there."

D: (She pauses a moment before answering, obviously contemplating what to say. She takes a breath and says, casually) "You prepared to make a night of it? (beat) Think I might be in the mood to _try_ a little something."

Spike: (Eyebrow raise. He leans in a bit, to avoid being overheard by the bartender) "Oh, I can imagine a few things we could try—maybe something to give your tongue a better workout."

D: (Smiling, she turns to pick up her drink before responding.) "I was thinking something a bit more…_incisive_."

After she says this, she opens her mouth just enough to show her tongue touching the tips of her front teeth.

A flash of a frown washes over Spike's intrigued expression—he's not quite sure if she means what he thinks she means and if she does, he's not sure what to think about that. A sharp chill passes through his body. He has to concentrate a bit to suppress the demon from welling up at the hint of fresh human blood. He wouldn't. Even if that _is_ what she meant, he couldn't. Too dangerous. 'Course whether the root of his concern is for her or for him, he's not sure. With a subtle head movement, he shakes it off. Still, he quite likes the idea of having her to himself for a night—she's been a bit slippery so far. Not that he's minded, really, just maybe he wouldn't say no to a bit more. They'd hooked up twice—both times rather fast and furious and never in a particularly comfortable space. She'd surprised him the first time. (Thinking back.) It was nice to be surprised again.

(Memory flashback)

They were out on a job a couple weeks ago. They'd worked together a few times before. She seemed to do odds and ends for W&H—mostly informant type things, plus she had a way of knowing where to find certain demons of interest. Wesley had taken a bit of a professional interest in her as well, but Spike had never thought to ask why. So she'd been around the office from time to time—they'd passed in the hall. Guess they'd had a bit of flirtation the few times they'd been out and about. Ok, maybe nothing quite as overt as a flirtation—more of a mutual observance. She didn't seem the sort to flirt, at least that's the impression he'd got. He can't quite remember what it was that caught his eye. Something subtle. No, wait, it was the fact that she seemed to exude subtlety, if that was even possible. He remembers being quite proud of himself for figuring that out—what it was about her that was different. She was nice looking—appealing might be a better word—once you took notice. But you wouldn't pick her out of a crowd and you might not even notice if she walked right past. She had blonde hair that fell straight to just below the shoulder—the color not showy enough for a dye, maybe a mid-ash blonde. There was a distinct touch of red in the longest layer, which peeked out beneath the rest. She must have dyed it, as it was too distinct to be natural variation. From the back, it gave the effect of flames licking the base of her hairline. Still, you could miss it, if you weren't looking closely. Her eyes were brown—not very dark. In fact, they almost appeared to match the red in her hair, as you sometimes find with redheads when they have brown eyes. It's certainly an illusion, with the hair being on the brownish side of red and the eyes the reddish side of brown. It was a nice effect if you took the time to see it. There was nothing else distinguishing about her features, except that they blended well. She had a wry smile. He liked that. You could tell there was always something _more_ behind it. Something to be discovered. Yeah, she definitely had an appeal. He'd thought about asking her out for a drink or something. You know, at some point. Not really in a rush. Ever since that ridiculously surreal trip to Rome, he'd had that nagging voice of the boy in his head, telling him to "move on".

He rants to himself: "You know your life's shit when you contemplate taking advice from a sexually ambiguous ponce in a tuxedo. Then with bloody Angel waltzing around the office with dog-girl, as if he's the KING of the effing world for having a bloody girlfriend. Like THAT means he's "moved on". Like fucking a bottle blonde with fake knockers and a monthly hair problem proves a damn thing. Bloody idiot. Actually, maybe it does. Proves he isn't capable of…..Aw, fuck it. Nevermind. I could have a shiny new girlfriend if I wanted. Could have one tomorrow, in fact. Not going to do it to prove a bloody point, though, am I? (beat) God, how many times am I going to do this? _I'm_ the bloody idiot. Anything's got to be better than this."

That's when he'd decided to give it a go. When the time was right and he felt like it. Soon, for sure. Couldn't hurt anything to have a drink, anyway. Might as well have some fun. And the bird with the glimmer of something seemed as good as any. Of course, he hadn't quite gotten around to it yet when they went out on that job the other week.

On that particular occasion she'd led him to the lair of a particularly nasty beast—some sort of demon hit-man. He'd knocked off a few of Wolfram & Hart's relatively innocuous clients. The job was to find out who'd hired him and why—try to catch a glimpse of the big picture. Unfortunately, Spike had quickly lost his patience with the beast, who was showing no hint of cooperation and when he tried to make a break for it, Spike "accidentally" snapped his neck. Oops. Eh, he wasn't too bothered. It'd been too long since he'd had a good fight anyway. Afterwards, they did a quick sweep of his place, looking for any sort of documentation. She spotted something that might be useful—a piece of paper with some scribblings on it—said it had the right _feel_ to it. Spike tucked it in his pocket to bring to Wesley for deciphering.

Spike: (casually) "It's late. I could call a taxi if you want."

D: "You in a hurry to get somewhere?"

He looked over at her with a slightly puzzled look. She met his gaze and then glanced over to the cot next to the body of the dead demon. He followed her gaze to the cot and then looked back at her with a mischievous eyebrow raise. She gave him a shallow, wry smile. Quite unexpected that. He hadn't seen it coming. The usual human precursors weren't there—the nervous shift in demeanor, the slight quickening of the pulse. She just _said_ it. Interesting. Most of all, he'd never even considered that she might make the first move; that perhaps he wasn't in control of the timeline. Huh.

Spike: "No particular hurry. Why, what did you have in mind?"

D: (playing along, still matter-a-fact) "Oh, I don't know. (beat) We could fool around."

Now she was getting a bit flushed. Mmmmm.

Spike: (a quick laugh) "Yeah, alright. (beat) Not so shy after all, then."

D: "Quiet's not the same as shy. Figured you knew that."

She casually walked over to the cot and sat down, smiling up at him. He quickly stripped off his duster and sat down next to her. Despite her prior forwardness, she waited for him to take the first kiss. Her lips, her tongue seemed impossibly soft. He quickly moved his hand to her neck, just inside the collar of her shirt. He noticed that unlike most humans he'd been with, she didn't flinch at the first touch of his cool skin. Things were a bit of a blur from there—it'd been too long. Other than that disastrous episode with Harmony, his flesh had been untouched since he became corporeal—in any way that mattered. He'd almost forgotten. Once he felt her warmth, he had to cover himself with it. Soon, it was skin on skin, though clothes lingered at the edges. God how he _ached_...

Afterwards, he remembered relishing in the surprise, the release. He'd needed that. She had too, from the smile on her face. After a brief recovery period, she'd moved to the edge of the bed and was leisurely re-clasping her bra and re-assembling her outfit. He was leaning back on his elbow, pleasantly watching her. She'd looked over her shoulder at him and with a warm grin, said "That was fun."

It was nice to see a smile for a change; completely genuine, without a hint of regret.

But then things took a slightly less optimistic turn.

D: "The thing is, I've got a boyfriend. Darryl, down in Accounting. So I was thinking maybe we could keep this quiet."

Spike: (Here we go…) "_Darryl_. (said with a profound distaste for the name, complete with a disgusted frown) He works for Wolfram and Hart?"

D: "Yeah. That's how I go into this whole…_thing_."

Spike: (Slightly put off) "Don't you think you should've mentioned that _before_ the fucking?"

D: (Thinks about it for a moment) "In hindsight. Then again, I sorta had the impression you weren't really looking for anything…long term, so I figured you wouldn't mind so much."

Spike: (Slight frown, but he plays it cool.) "Well, yeah. I mean, I'm not…._looking_ for anything."

Though he _was_ a bit disappointed that this was probably a one-off. Now he'd have to go to the trouble of picking someone else. Bloody perfect. I mean, who's got the energy?

'Course it turned out not to be _exactly_ a one-off. They'd hooked up again the next week and it looked like they'd be at it again shortly. Things could be worse.

(Back to the present)

D: "So. What do you think?"

Spike: "I _think_, I've already been kept waiting too long tonight. I'm losing patience. (Leaning in close enough to whisper directly in her ear.) So I say we find a dark corner in this place first—you let me have a go here and I promise to take you back to my place after and give you a proper seeing to. (He licks his lips and whispers something in her ear.)

She closes her eyes at this and if it wasn't so dark, you'd see the slight flush in her cheeks. He leans back in his chair with a naughty, expectant little grin. He's never _quite_ sure what kind of reaction he's likely to get—maybe that's what makes it so fun. She drains her glass of tequila and slides off her chair, lightly grabbing his hand on her way passed. He stops a moment to finish his drink and then follows her lead.

D: "We'll need to watch out for Wesley—he could be here any minute."

Spike considers this and glances around the club, looking for a spot that will satisfy _all_ their needs. There is a slightly raised area along one side near the restrooms. They head in that direction. They find a decorative curtain just to the side—not quite enough to hide them completely, but it's in a quiet part of the bar and they've got Spike's duster for additional coverage. She can have her back to the wall and see out across most of the club by looking out to the left and through the edge of the curtain. Instantly grasping the plan, Spike moves in quickly for a kiss, pushing her back against the wall.

After a few minutes...

D: "Uh…I think…Wesley's here…oh god that's good…(trying to focus) He's looking for us…"

Spike: "Guess I'd better get to it."

He picks up the pace as she nervously watches Wesley getting closer.

D: "He's…almost here."

Spike: (eyelids fluttering, intense frown) "Good thing I'm coming, then."

And with that, he thrusts one more time and with a muted groan and a few quick breaths through clenched teeth, he's done. Just as Wesley's gaze falls in their direction, they hastily separate, leaving them just enough time to button up their trousers before they're spotted; She's a bit pink in the cheeks and Spike quickly pulls his duster closed. Wesley walks over to them and after a brief and stilted greeting, starts explaining the situation (who they're meeting, exactly where, etc.). In a moment, an "oh shit" look crosses her face—she glances down to see the wet spot forming in the crotch of her pants where her body has released Spike's juices. She grabs a half-full glass from a nearby table and pretends to "accidentally" spill it on herself. Spike smiles knowingly, as she excuses herself to use the bathroom to clean up. It's a rather obvious ploy, but as usual, Wesley chooses to stoically ignore it and stick to business. He simply couldn't care less. He and Spike agree to handle the exchange on their own.

Flash forward to Spike's apartment a while later. He unlocks the door to let her in. She has a quick look around.

D: "Not so much of _you_ in this place, is there?"

Spike: "Haven't been here long."

D: (She can tell it's more complicated than that.) "Did you have to leave in a hurry—the place you came from—leave your stuff behind?"

Spike: "Something like that."

He steps towards her and then drops to his knees and starts working on the clasp of her trousers.

D: (a bit taken aback) "I should probably shower first."

Spike: "Why? You'll only have more to wash later."

He continues to pull down her pants, exposing her curly blonde muff.

D: "Uh, most guys are kinda funny about…_that_."

Spike: (smirking up at her) "You're about to find out, I'm not like most guys."

She looks skeptical and perhaps a touch nervous, but soon relaxes into his delicate touch. Oh yeah. This is going to be fun.

Flash forward to sometime later. They're on the bed now, naked. She's on top, riding him, her body covered in a fine sweat. He has his hands resting on her hips as she rhythmically lifts herself up slightly and with a gentle pelvic tilt pushes herself back down. He's intently watching her face as she moves, drinking in her every expression, occasionally cupping one of her swaying breasts, or leaning forward to take one in his mouth and suck it until the nipple is hard and red.

Spike: "See, nice and slow. No rush, luv. That's nice. mmmmm. I can feel you squeezing me."

D: (Her eyes seem a bit glazed over) "I want to make you come. I want more of you inside me."

Spike: "Soon. But I want you to go first this time."

He licks the thumbs of both hands and moves to place them such that each time she thrusts, they'll brush past her most sensitive area.

D: (eyes widening) "No. I can't. Not again. I'm done."

Spike: "Oh, I don't think so."

D: "It's too much. I…"

He places his thumbs and with the first stroke, she stops talking. Soon she's moving faster, whimpering with pleasure, though frowning as if she's in pain. She almost looks like she could cry, but she can't stop herself from moving. Beads of sweat start to form on her head and neck.

Spike: "That's a good girl."

D: (She whines, at first plaintively and then as an almost chant to go along with her own thrusting) "I can't…I can't, I…"

Then her words melt into grunts and whimpers as she pumps harder and harder. Spike can't believe the myriad of squeezes and twists and thrusts her body is inflicting—it feels unbelievable—he's close to losing control, particularly with the sight of her fighting and yet surrendering to the pleasure with all her might. DAMN that's sexy. In a minute, he hears her make the loudest noise he's ever heard come from her lips—a groan beginning low in her throat, growing to an untamed shriek. He feels her body convulse on top of him, her inner walls spasming. Soon, her loud groans become progressively muted until they mellow to a series of whimpers, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Forgetting his own state for a moment, he can't help but drink in the sights and sounds of her overwhelmed body as she lays on top of him, trying to stifle an exhausted laugh.

D: (completely breathless) "You win. That's it. I'm done. I honestly didn't think you'd take the 'all-nighter' thing so literally. I just wanted to see you naked."

Spike: (playful, smiling) "I'm happy to take it from here, you quiet little harlot. Nobody knows what a vixen you are, do they? How much you _love_ it."

He flips them over so that he's on top and starts pumping again. She puts her hand around his neck and smiles up at him, looking relaxed, satisfied. She stares into his eyes and her smile fades to something different. He lowers his torso and kisses her. He's right on the edge, his mind hazed with pleasure. She whispers,

D: "I want you to bite me."

Immediately and without his conscious approval, his demon surfaces. Her eyes wash over his face, curiously exploring his changed features. His mind swirling with desire, he tries to fight it.

Spike: "No, I…"

He'd been expecting this, expecting to hold back, but now his clouded mind he can't remember why. Suddenly, he can _feel_ her blood.

D: (Interpreting his hesitation as concern for her.) "Maybe my arm."

She starts to present it to him, but he's already diving to her neck, unable to resist. He pauses just as his teeth touch her skin and then slowly bites down. Her eyes widen and she can't stop a plaintive whimper from escaping her throat. After taking a few deep mouthfuls, he pulls away. Overwhelmed by the dual gratification, he collapses back onto her, his mind wiped clean of any conscious thought.

Flash forward to later that night/early the next morning. They're both sleeping soundly. He's on his back—she's next to him on her side, her arm resting on his shoulder. A cell phone starts to ring. She stirs first, sluggishly rolling over and looking for her bag on the floor by the bed. She finds it after a few rings and rolls back over onto her back to answer it. By now, Spike's eyes start to flutter open.

D: (groggy) "Hello? (pause (we only hear her side of the conversation)) Darryl—yeah, I'm fine. (pause) Sorry, didn't hear it ringing. (pause) It was fine. Listen, I can't really talk right now. (pause) Well, I'm sorry I ruined your night. (pause) You've still got a few hours before the meeting, so get some sleep. (pause) No. I'm at Spike's. (pause) Well, we _were_ having sex, but now we're sleeping. (Spike's been casually listening up to this point, but when he hears this, he re-opens his eyes and looks over at her with a surprised expression.) (pause) We'll talk about it tomorrow. (pause) No. (pause) I don't know. Just go to bed. (pause) I'm hanging up now and I'm turning off the phone."

She does as she said, and tosses the phone back into her bag.

Spike: "Not one to soften the blow, then."

D: (She misinterprets his surprised look) "Oh, don't worry. There's no pressure. I don't expect…things don't have to change. It's just…I don't like to lie—and I'm not much for the sneaking around either."

Spike: "You could've not answered."

D: "Yeah, but he knew I was out on a Wolfram and Hart job and as an employee, he knows the odds are a bit scary in terms of personal safety. I figured it'd be better for him to be angry at me than think I'm dead."

Spike: "Maybe."

D: "I must sound pretty heartless. (beat) The thing is, we've become more of a habit than anything else—he knows it too. He's not a bad guy. Very self-absorbed—'course that's one of the reasons I stayed with him. Made things easier."

Spike: (Shrugs his lack of caring about Darryl's feelings) "Bye bye, Darryl."

D: "You mind if I stay?"

Spike: "Do what you like."

Things are looking up. He wouldn't mind having her to himself for a bit.

She rolls to the edge of the bed and sits up, rummaging on the floor for a t-shirt.

D: "Need a glass of water. Think I'm a bit dehydrated."

Spike: (with a delightful smirk) "Can't imagine why."

But the moment she stands up and takes her fist step, her legs appear to give out and she falls onto the floor. Spike leans to peer over the bed at her. She's lying on her back, but quickly lifts herself up on her elbows.

Spike: "You alright?"

D: "Guess I'm a bit dizzy. (She puts her hand on her neck) Forgot about the blood. (a hint of a smile) See, when I give blood to the Red Cross, I get juice and crackers and sometimes a little sticker to put on my jacket. Do _you_ have juice and crackers?"

Spike: "No."

D: (considering for a moment, with a wider grin) "Eh, I prefer the multiple orgasms."

Spike: "Actually, I might have a stash of Homewheats—(translating) cookies."

He gets up out of bed and goes to the kitchen, returning a minute later with some biscuits and a glass of water. He's chewing on one himself. He hands them to her (still on the floor) and gets back into bed. She eats a couple and drinks the water and then climbs back up.

Spike: "Better? (She nods and starts to pull the sheet up) Hang on a minute. (feigning seriousness) I've got a nudity rule."

D: (? waiting for an explanation) "Ok."

Spike: "No clothes in the bed."

He starts to tug at the t-shirt she'd thrown on before attempting to get up. She gives him a skeptical sideways smile, but then obliges by getting naked again and THEN pulling the sheet up. He takes a quick look at the bite mark on her neck—perhaps feeling a bit guilty (bloody soul of his).

Spike: (as he's gently running his fingers over it) "Was that…Ok?"

D: (thinking about it for a minute) "Yeah. It was…good…different…I mean it hurt, but…not much more than losing my virginity, from what I remember."

Spike: (thinking for a moment) "Why?"

D: "Curiosity. I guess I just wanted to see what it was like. (Pause, then a smile) Same reason I had sex for the first time."

Mostly satisfied with her answer, he rolls over on his side, indicating it's time for more sleeping. She moves closer to him and without thinking, cuddles up close and puts her arm around his waist (she's on the outside of the spoon).

Spike: "You cold?"

D: (catching herself) "Oh, sorry. Too much cuddling. I usually get claustrophobic too, but…"

She starts to move away and pulls her arm back.

Spike: "Was just wondering if you were cold, is all. I have a blanket in the closet for when I've got to rush out in the day."

D: "No, I'm fine."

He turns a bit and reaches for her arm, which he pulls back around his waist as he turns back over. She inches closer, moving her body so that it's just touching his and her lips are only an inch or so from the back of his neck. This last interaction confused her. She could sense the conflict in him. A surge of empathy washes over her, though the source is unclear. It compels her to cross the inch separating them and gently kiss the base of his neck—just at the knob of bone below the inward curve—before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.

She ends up staying until the next evening. They spend the day leisurely laying around in bed, goofing off. She's postponing the inevitable "talk" with Darryl and Spike doesn't mind having some company for a change. It's a good day. She leaves around 7 to go back to her apartment to shower and then to Wolfram and Hart, where she has some sort of "official" meeting with Wesley and some others. She's not quite sure what it's all about, but she has enough else on her mind to not think too much about it.

End Scene.

Scene 2: Angel's office.

Angel is standing behind his desk. Lorne is sitting on the arm of a chair, sipping a drink. Wesley is standing a few feet away, holding a file folder. The meeting has already started.

Angel: "That her file?" (Indicating the folder in Wesley's hand)

Instead of answering, he steps over and hands the file to Angel, who promptly lets it drop on his desk and flicks open the cover.

Wesley: "She was raised by Pastuyk demons until the age of 8. She has no recollection of her human parents or how she came into the care of these creatures. She was found wandering the grounds of a school in suburban Chicago and subsequently put into foster care."

Angel: "Pastuyk demons? Peaceful, I'm guessing."

Wesley: "For the most part, yes. Though they do go through a violent stage in pubescence and have been known to hunt and kill humans during that time. We don't really know much else about them."

Angel: "Why is she here?"

Wesley: "She moved to L.A. with her boyfriend, Darryl Jones. He was hired by Wolfram and Hart straight out of college and then transferred to the L.A. office three years ago—he's an accountant. Human."

Angel: "That's her connection to us."

Wesley: (nods) "We came across her by accident a few months go—one of our field people was meeting a potential informant in a demon bar across town—Harvey's. Turns out Ms. Nyssa was working behind the bar—the agent recognized her from one of the office Halloween parties."

Angel: "A human bartending at a demon bar? Seems unlikely. Or incredibly stupid."

Wesley: "That's why he mentioned it in his report. I was intrigued and set up a meeting. She claimed the demons didn't bother her. That she'd never had a problem. She also mentioned that she sometimes overheard things—things that might be of use to us. She'd learned about the change in management when we…you…took over Wolfram and Hart. She expressed an interest in helping out.

Angel: "That's when you started working with her."

Wesley: "On a case by case basis. It was less her potential as an informant as her apparent invisibility to demons that compelled me to take her on."

Angel: "You think it's related to her upbringing? Something the…uh…(glancing at the file)…Pastuyk demons rigged up as protection?"

Wesley: "It's possible. Though it's hard to imagine a spell that could be so universal in its effects. And strictly speaking, it's not that they don't see her—they simply don't react to her—they do not appear to see her as a target _or_ a threat. It's intriguing, for sure."

Angel: "And you want me to hire her full-time to indulge your curiosity? We've got a lot on our plate right now, Wes. I'm not sure it's the time to be bringing in new faces."

Lorne: "Oh, that's right. Our specialty of late falls on the _losing_ faces side of things."

Wesley: "I think she could be quite useful to us. There are other capacities in which she might be of value. She has a certain connection to demon languages…."

Angel: "We've already got a department full of translators, I don't see how…"

Wesley: "It's not translation, exactly. It's not about the words. It's more like an ability to detect the mood or intention of a bit of text or spoken language—particularly useful in situations when a set of words or piece of text can have many disparate interpretations."

Angel: "Like ancient prophesies, for example."

Wesley: (nods, acknowledging the not-so-subtle dig) "We don't know the extent of her abilities, but I think it's worth a deeper look."

(Skeptical frown from Angel.)

Lorne: "Tell him the best part."

Wesley: "She appears to get along quite well with Illyria."

Angel: "I didn't think Illyria was the 'get along' type."

Wesley: (shrugs) "Yes, well, that might have been a bit of an overstatement. Illyria expresses less contempt and disgust for her than most other humans. Perhaps it's related to the spell. The point is, Ms. Nyssa appears to have a calming affect on her."

(Angel considers this a moment.)

Angel: "What makes you think we can we trust her? Maybe she's a plant. I'm not in the mood to get burned again."

Lorne: (cheerful) "Oh, she's a great kid. Not much of a singer, sadly, but heart-of-gold for sure. Good intentions all around."

Angel: "You've been wrong before."

Lorne: "Hey, thanks for the salt. I'd _just_ about managed to wash away those brain cells." (He takes another long drink from his seabreeze.)

Wesley: "I think Lorne's right about this one."

Angel: "Well, we all know you've got trust issues, so if _you_ think we can trust her, then…"

Wesley: "Perhaps you should meet her yourself. She's waiting outside."

Angel: "Fine. But let's make this quick."

Wesley goes to the door, opens it and guides her inside. She has a brief look around and then stands, facing Angel and the others. As soon as she walks in, Angel remembers that he's seen her around the office once or twice. At least she looks a bit familiar. Her file says she's 26, but she's dressed like a teenager—Or maybe he's just gotten used to the parade of suits that is Wolfram and Hart. She's wearing jeans and a snug t-shirt (orange with a thick red star just below the chest area)—she's got multiple piercings in her ears and a tiny scar on her nose indicating a failed attempt at a nose ring.

There's an awkward moment of silence. Wesley snaps out of his gloom for a moment and realizes that he should make the introductions.

Wesley: "Angel, this is Meredeth Nyssa."

She waves a greeting, not knowing whether she's meant to walk over and shake his hand or not.

Angel: (Looking down at her folder, awkwardly.) Meredeth Nyssa. What sort of name is that?"

D: "'Nyssa' is Greek, but I'm not. My foster mom picked it—she was a bit of a hippie."

Wesley: (explaining) "Nyssa means 'beginning'."

D: (seeming a bit nervous) "Most people call me Deth. Some call me Merry, as in Merry Christmas."

Angel frowns at these choices.

Angel: "Maybe we'll just stick with Meredeth. (moving on) So you were raised by demons. That must've been…._different_."

Deth: (ignoring the last bit) "Uh, yeah, nobody calls me Meredeth."

Awkward eye shifting.

Angel: "Wes tells me you're some sort of demon language empath." (He sounds skeptical/unimpressed.)

Deth: (frowning slightly; considering the description, she turns toward Wesley and asks with genuine curiosity) "Is that what you think I am?"

Wesley: "It's a possibility."

Lorne: "The signs are there, kitten."

Angel: "Why don't you tell us what _you_ think you are."

Deth: (A quick frown, then a resigned shrug.) "I don't know."

More awkward silence.

Wesley: "Why don't you describe to Angel what you've told me."

Deth: (frowning) "About language? (Wes nods) I don't understand what they're saying exactly, but I get a vibe when they talk to me. Or when I look at something they've written."

Wesley: "And it appears to happen with any demon language. Though we haven't tested it thoroughly."

Angel: "A _vibe_. Sounds pretty vague. (She shrugs) What sort of "vibe" are you getting from me?"

Deth: "I've never been able to read vampires very clearly—You and Spike least of all."

Angel: "Spike?"

Wesley: (explaining) "They've worked together on a couple of jobs."

Deth: "I think it's got to do with vampires having been human—it's like a mask that lingers. And then you two with souls and all." (shrugs)

Wesley: "And you've also said that you get less if they're speaking a language you understand."

Deth: (nods) "That said, it's pretty obvious you don't want to be here—that you think I'm wasting your time. Well, that Wesley's wasting your time."

Angel: "Is he?"

Deth: "I'm sure you've got bigger things to think about."

Angel: (pause) "How long have you been working at Harvey's?"

Deth: "Couple of years."

Angel: "And the clientele doesn't hassle you?"

Deth: "Never have."

Angel: (to Lorne) "What about anti-violence spells, like what you used to have at Caritas?"

Lorne: "At Harvey's? Please. Harvey wouldn't spend money on a spittoon."

Wesley: "It's not restricted to the bar. Just yesterday, she walked right passed some Quill priests."

Angel: "You were there?"

Wesley: "Well, no, but she was able to get the artifact we were after without any trouble."

Angel: (Something occurs to him) "Quill demons…did I know about that?"

Wesley: "Small stuff. Didn't seem necessary to trouble you with it."

Angel: (He frowns a moment and then turns back to Deth) "What's that on your neck?" (Referring to a bandage only partially obscured by her collar and hair.)

Deth: (Reflexively moving her hand up to touch it.) "Got caught by a thorn when I was hiking."

It's a rather obvious lie—she's pale as a sheet, not someone who spends much time out and about in the California sun. Obvious enough to make a point. She doesn't break her gaze with Angel. He decides to let it go.

Angel: "Do you know why you're here?"

Deth: "Wesley said something about a job. And I'd bet with things as they are, you're not prepared to take anybody's word for anything."

Angel: "What do you think?"

Deth: "Does it come with benefits?"

Angel: (not exactly what he was expecting) "uh…"

Deth: "You know, health care and stuff."

(Angel looks around, confused.)

Wesley: "We have in-house doctors and connections with the major hospitals in the city."

Deth: "What about, like, self-defense classes. Kick-boxing or something. I've never had any training."

Lorne: "Me neither, thank the stars, and I get along just fine. Well, mainly I just hide behind the guy with the biggest gun, but whatever works, right?"

Wesley: "I don't see that training would be necessary considering your situation, but if you had an interest, I'm sure we could work something out."

Angel: (annoyed) "Since when did this become a negotiation?"

They all stare at him.

Deth: (getting it) "You want to know what I think about working here, _in principle_. (Angel shrugs in the affirmative.) I like the changes you've made. I think I could be of use. (pause. Angel is waiting for her to say more. She looks around uncomfortably, not knowing what else to say.) I'd like to help you out."

Angel: (He pauses a moment, then says) "Would you mind stepping out of the room a minute?"

She nods and strolls across the room to the door. She stops in the doorway and turns back.

Deth: "I'd rather not have to quit Harvey's."

She nods, satisfied that she's said everything she wanted to and then steps through the door. Once she's gone:

Angel: "Who goes by 'Deth', anyway? That's just weird."

Lorne: "She's a good egg, Angel."

Angel: "She doesn't say much. I like that. (beat) Put her on the payroll, but see what else you can find out about who she is and what she can do."

Wes nods.

End Scene


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Scene 1: A hallway in Wolfram and Hart.

Deth is carrying a stack of books. She turns a corner to find Spike stepping out of the elevator at the other end of the hall. She doesn't want to shout down the hall to get his attention; instead, she pushes the top book off the stack with her chin. It goes crashing to the ground and lands with a good thud. Spike turns towards her and takes the few long strides necessary to bridge the gap between them, a poorly hidden grin on his lips. He reaches down and picks up the book, giving it a once over before adding it back to the stack.

Spike: "Thought real books were obsolete around here, with Percy's magic ones and all that."

Deth: "They're for me. 'Seems I need the originals—need more than the words. (Seeing Spike's confused frown, she shakes it off, not wanting to take the time to explain.) Nevermind."

Spike: (looking at her more closely) "You look awful. (catching himself) Not that I'm bothered, but you look like sh…like you've had a bad night."

Her eyes are a bit sunken and she has a red mark on her cheek.

Deth: (sigh)"Bad couple of nights."

Spike: "Sound like a bit of a schoolyard ponce for asking, but want me to carry your books?"

Deth: "Thanks."

He takes them from her and they start slowly walking down the hall.

Spike: "Been working late at Harvey's?"

He suspects that's the wrong explanation, but figures it'll get her talking.

Deth: (Shaking her head) "Seems I was a bit off about Darryl—not quite as ready to move on as I'd thought. Been dealing with that the past couple of nights. He was pretty upset. And angry." (She reflexively reaches up to touch her cheek when she says this.)

Spike: (casually)"He hit you?"

Deth: (shrugging) "Suppose I deserved it—running around and then telling him like that. (beat; considering) I'd never been slapped—hurt a bit more than I was expecting. And it made less noise."

Spike: "Can't even remember the first time _I_ was slapped. Probably deserved every one. (beat; trying hard to sound disinterested) So, uh, you two work it out?"

Deth: "Nah. It was time. After far too much talking, some yelling, a bit of whining and a few tears, we were done. (For no particular reason, as if she's just thinking out loud, she decides to add) He was very agitated by the fact that I didn't cry—took a long time to talk through that. Which is odd because that's one of the things he said he'd always liked about me. But last night, he went on and on about it—"Five years and it was over—how could I not cry?" But I don't cry. Never have. Doesn't have anything to do with him."

Spike: "You said you liked that he was so self-absorbed, but don't tell me you haven't used that against him when the time was right. What people want changes by the day, maybe even the hour—the minute. No sense settlin' in."

She thinks about this for a minute.

Deth: "Yeah."

They're now standing outside Wesley's office, neither one quite ready to go their separate ways.

Spike: "So, 's the position open then?"

Deth: (surprised smirk) "What position would that be?"

Spike: "Darryl's."

Deth: (a bit of an odd way of putting it, but she'll play along) "Some might say it's best not to jump back in right away."

Spike: "Think you've already done some jumping."

Deth: (lets out a small, acknowledging laugh) "Maybe."

Spike: "As it happens, I've got a vacancy myself."

Deth: "Is that right? 'Cause I had the impression that was intentional."

Spike: "For someone meant to be empathic, you sure suck at reading people."

She thinks about explaining the whole language/demon/human/vampire thing, but decides it would take too many words. And it would take even more words to explain that what she HAS got from him over the past few weeks has been ALL KINDS of mixed—even minute to minute, so she'd given up trying. She chooses to keep up the current momentum of the conversation instead.

Deth: "You suggesting we should help each other out?"

Spike: (In an ever-so-slightly more serious tone and a touch of a smile) "I don't mind."

And with that, as if everything is settled, Spike hands the books back to her and turns to go. Deth has a confused frown on her face and before he takes more than a step away…

Deth: "Spike? (He turns back) Did we just decide something?"

Spike: (matter-of-fact, smiling) "Yeah. I _said_ I don't mind." (duh)

Deth: (still not terribly clear; she glances side to side) "Okay."

Spike: "I'll stop by a bit later—we'll go get a drink or something. (beat) And by the way, next time you want to get my attention, dropping one of Head Boy's millennia old books is probably not the best idea—he gets a bit cranky 'bout stuff like that and lately he's been packing. No need anyway—I always know you're there."

As soon as he turns to go, a rather gleeful smile flashes across her face. She takes a deep breath and then opens the door to Wesley's office and steps in.

Scene 2

A couple of weeks later, Angel is approaching Spike's apartment door. As he gets a couple of steps away, he hears an assortment of noises emanating from within—voices, laughter, squealing, some squeaking, a couple of loud thuds. He rolls his eyes and raps on the door. The noises continue, so he knocks louder. Then silence; steps toward the door. He's already impatient. The door opens abruptly to reveal Spike shirtless, a touch out of breath, still laughing a bit. Angel looks past him and sees Deth standing on the bed in bare feet, dressed only in one of Spike's button down shirts, with a stupid grin on her face. She's still bouncing a bit, as if she'd just been jumping up and down. She's got a can of spray-able whipped cream in her hand and a streak of what looks (and smells) like chocolate sauce across her left thigh. He sees a blender on the counter, half full of some kind of frozen drink next to a half-empty bottle of tequila. A few bits of furniture have been knocked on their sides about the room.

Spike: "Yeah, what do you want?"

Angel: (stern) "I've been trying to call you for an hour."

Deth: (from across the room, as she hops down off the bed and fishes around on the floor for her pants) "Hi boss."

He reflexively gives her a half-wave, looking a touch uncomfortable.

Spike: "Ah. Yes. Must've knocked the phone off the hook, when were…eh…"

Angel: "Put your shirt on, we need to go."

Spike: "What, _now_? Kinda in the middle of something."

Angel: "Yes, now. It's important."

Spike: "Thought you didn't much like working with me. You got an office full of more amicable half-wits in your employ—(turning to Deth)—No offence, pet—(back to Angel) Why not drag one of them along instead?"

Deth: "None taken." (She's sitting on the bed, putting her shoes on now.)

Angel: "I need muscle. (beat) And I'd rather not have word get back to Hamilton about this particular situation."

Spike: (sarcasm) "'Good to be the boss, innit?"

Angel: (a hint of need softens his tone) "You coming?"

Spike: (resigned—he can tell from Angel's tone that this must be important) "Yeah."

He steps away from the door and grabs a t-shirt off the couch.

Deth: (Now fully dressed and standing; To Angel) "Want _me_ to come?"

Spike: (answering instead, somewhat under his breath) "That _was_ the idea."

Angel: "I think we can handle it, thanks."

Spike: (to Deth, hopeful) "You want to wait here?"

Deth: (shrugging, disappointed) "Have to be at Harvey's in a few hours."

Angel: "You need a ride somewhere?"

Deth: "Nah, I'll walk. Thanks."

They all leave together, but Deth heads in the opposite direction after getting a goodbye peck from Spike. We follow Angel and Spike as they approach the end of the block.

Spike: "What, no Wolfram and Hart limo? You really are doing this on the sly. (beat) Sure you're up for walking? From the looks of you, I'd bet you've been spending wee bit too much time sitting on your ass, riding around in limos."

Angel: (frustrated sigh) "You're drunk. Again."

Spike: "Since when do I have to be drunk to insult you? Can't blame me for being a bit testy—you interrupted a right bit of fun back there."

Angel: "So you two are what, like _dating_? (said with obvious distaste) I thought she had a boyfriend—some guy down in Accounting."

Spike: (With a bit of swanky pride) "She did. Nothin' a few nights with me couldn't take care of."

Angel: "She's a bit odd. (adding with a smirk) But I guess she'd have to be."

Spike: "Those shagging wild dogs shouldn't throw…frisbees. Or something. (laughs) That was kind of pathetic."

Angel: "Not one of your best. (beat) You know we've hired her full-time."

Spike: "She mentioned it."

Angel: "Be careful. Try not to screw things up."

Spike: (disbelief) "You are NOT giving me relationship advice."

Angel: (noticing a glob of what must be whipped cream on Spike's ear and obviously distracted by it) "You've got a…(he motions toward his own ear)…you've got something…"

Spike: (annoyed, not getting it) "What?"

Angel lets out a frustrated sigh and lifts his hand to wipe it off himself. But once Spike sees what he's doing, he recoils away in mock disgust and lifts his own hand up.

Spike: "Back off. I got it. Just a bit of cream is all. (He licks it off his finger once he's done wiping it from his ear. Smiling) She sure knows how to have a good time, that one."

Angel: "I'm just saying, things could get awkward at the office if you start playing games."

Spike: "Because we're all just one big happy family _now_. Relax. We're just having a laugh. And with all this apocalypting going on, we could use a few. Never underestimate the restorative powers of a good shag. 'Course in you're case…."

Angel: "Don't. (pause) Guess there's no harm in it—there are bigger things."

Spike: "Now if only we could get Wes laid—'might cut down on the office shootings."

Scene 3: Later, at Wolfram and Hart. Wesley's office.

Wesley is quietly sitting at his desk, books open in front of him. His head is down, but he gazes through them. There's a light knock on the door.

Wesley: "Come in."

Gunn peeks his head around.

Gunn: "Just thought you might want to know, Deth is down in the infirmary. She got jumped down on Augustus."

Wesley: "Is she alright?"

Gunn: "Bump on the head and a stab wound in the arm, but doc says she'll be fine."

Wesley gets up and makes his way down to the infirmary—motivated more by curiosity than concern. When he gets there, a doctor is stitching up the cut on Deth's upper arm. She has a red bump on her forehead and is holding a cold pack against it. She looks a bit flushed, but otherwise appears calm. She smiles quickly when she sees Wes.

Deth: (anticipating his interest) "Humans."

Wesley: "Well that's bad luck."

Deth: "So much for my self defense classes. First one knocked me out cold. Guess I wasn't paying enough attention."

Wesley: "It's not your fault. We've all been a bit distracted lately. Did they take anything?"

Assuming it was a robbery.

Deth: "Not what they were after, luckily. I woke up before…"

She just looks at him until she's sure he understands.

Wesley: "Classes must have taught you something, then. You managed to get away."

She just shrugs and looks like she is about to say something more. But before she does, she sees Spike casually stroll through into the room. He sees her and walks over. She looks a touch embarrassed.

Spike: (He's concerned, but tries to make light of it.) "Heard you had yourself a bit of a tussle."

Deth: "And I wasn't even on the clock. Seems a bit of a waste."

Spike: "Stopped by Harvey's and they said you hadn't come in. Thought I'd pop in here to see if you'd been about. Gunn genned me up."

Deth: "'Night sure didn't end as promisingly as it started."

The doctor finishes the stitches and gives her a few care instructions.

Spike: "You should get another tattoo there—cover the scar nicely. 's in just the right spot."

Deth: "Maybe."

Gunn appears in the doorway.

Gunn: "Cops are here—figured you'd want to file a report, so I called one of our people at the LAPD. I gave 'em as much as I could from what you told me, but if you're up to it, you should probably talk to them."

A glimmer of a frown crosses her face, but she quickly melts it away.

Deth: "I'm fine."

Gunn: "Thought so."

Gunn opens the door for the officers.

Wesley: "Should I arrange a car to take you home when you're done here?"

Spike: "I'll take her home."

This elicits an appreciative glance from Deth.

Wesley: "I'll just be on my way, then."

He has a fleeting thought that he should probably say something else, but it dissipates as quickly as it came and he finds himself making his way back to his office. Deth watches him go with a bit too much focus.

As she answers the officers' routine questions, Spike watches her intently. He can hear Gunn in the hallway, talking to Angel. Gunn: "She's a trooper. Think maybe it'd take a lot to rattle her." But she _is_ rattled, despite her sedate appearance. The others can't tell, but he can. She's tougher to read than most—took him a good while to figure the signs and he's still not always sure—everything is buried deeper; filtered. Not intentionally—just as part of her. Just _her_. 'Least that's his assessment. He's enjoyed the challenge of it, the distraction—enjoyed that it is only his little mystery, as no one else takes much notice. Tonight, she's agitated—he's not sure whether it's fear or something else. She's thinking about something. He'd been making light of tonight's events both for her and for himself. Thinking leads to concern, leads to disgust, leads to fury, leads to memories, regret, revulsion. He'll keep it on the surface, to avoid the muddle within. He'll watch over her tonight.

Once she's done with the police, they grab a spare ice pack for her head, get some pain pills from the doctor and head in the direction of the exit. Just before they reach it, Deth hesitates.

Deth: "I'd like to talk to Wesley about something. Will you wait?"

Spike: "No worries. I'll go on out and have a smoke."

She nods and turns around, heading in the direction of Wesley's office. Once she gets there, she knocks lightly on the door and waits for a response. She hears his gruff "come in" and steps inside. He's behind his desk, sipping a glass of whiskey, looking very tired.

Wesley: (Seeing her, his thought from before catches up with him) "Don't worry about coming in tomorrow if you're not up to it."

Deth: "I'd like to talk to you about something. Something that happened tonight."

Wesley: "By all means."

Deth: (Taking a deep breath.) "The police won't find those boys who attacked me. They're gone."

Wesley: "What do you mean, gone?"

Deth: "After I woke up, I kicked and punched and thrashed my way out of from under…and got up and started running. One of them sliced my arm as I struggled passed, but I kept running. At least one had a gun and I was just waiting for the sound. I was terrified, and kept stumbling because my legs were stiff with fear. I could hear them behind me, chasing me. I ran as fast as I could and didn't look back. Until…until I heard something. But it wasn't a gunshot. It was a scream. One of _them_, screaming, then another. And then the gun went off. I looked back over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of something that made me stop dead. Three demons—each with one of the boys. (beat) They were ripping them apart."

Wesley: "Did you recognize the species?"

She thinks about it a minute—pausing as if to recall something deeply imbedded in her memory. The name comes to her, but she has to turn it over in her mind before she attempts to pronounce it.

Deth: "They were…_Kquitoth_."

Wesley: "Kquitoth. (Thinking a moment) They must've been in the area, smelled the blood. Very keen olfaction and very quick. It's a good thing they were occupied with your attackers—few who've seen them have lived to tell the tale. In fact, we should put a team on it if there's a gang of them in town—they have the capacity to…"

Deth: (interrupting, showing a bit more emotion) "I didn't want them to die. I didn't think they deserved it. Just kids, trying to prove themselves to a gang or something. Should've just been thrown in jail. 'Enough to scare them. I didn't…"

Wesley: (Befuddled, but sympathetic frown) "I don't understand. You can't possible think it was your _fault_ that you survived the attack and they didn't. You're not responsible."

Deth: "I stood there for a minute, before running away. I was frozen. One of them looked at me—one of the Kquitoth. He…he had one of the boy's severed legs in his hand….he was gnawing on the flesh when he saw me…he…."

Wesley: (Now concerned) "You've seen something horrible tonight. Perhaps you should speak with one of our staff trauma therapists before you go home. I'm happy to make the call. At the very least, you should have a sedative tonight and you can speak with someone tomorrow."

Deth: (Finishing her thought) "….he…waved at me. Wes, he looked right at me, put the leg down and _waved_ like he knew me."

She decides not to mention that she'd reflexively waved back before turning to run away.

Wesley: "Are you sure it wasn't a threat? A warning posture of some sort?"

Deth: "He was sorta smiling…well, as close as a Kquitoth can reasonably come to a smile. Trust me, there was no malice. It was a friendly wave. It was a "hey, nice to see ya', have fun storming the castle" kind of wave."

Wesley: "Had you met him? Perhaps he was one of your patrons at Harvey's."

Deth: "I've never seen a Kquitoth before. Never in my life. Harvey must not let them in the bar—or maybe they don't drink."

Wesley: (flummoxed) "I don't know what to say."

Deth: (shrugging) "I wanted to tell you. (beat) I didn't mean for it to happen."

Wesley: "Yes, of course not. I'll look into it. We can talk more about it when you're better. You should go home and get some rest now."

She nods, seeming a touch relieved. After she leaves, Wes frowns, turning over in his mind what Deth just told him. He has no idea what it means. She probably imagined it. Maybe her attackers had given her something….a drug…maybe it was the blow to her head…maybe…but before he can add another thought, his exhausted mind spins toward another place—the place that consumes everything like an internal black hole. As his mind approaches it, he feels the pain return that earlier put the whiskey in his hand and he instinctively pours himself another drink, quickly washing away all conscious thought.

Scene 4: Outside Deth's apartment building that night.

Spike gets out of a taxi and then helps Deth out—she's a bit wobbly, probably a mixture of the pain pills and the adrenaline wearing off. They stand for a moment outside the entrance to her building.

Spike: "Remind me again why I haven't been here?"

Deth: "It's very small."

Spike: "Is that all?"

Deth: "Not all, but enough."

Spike: (gesturing towards the door) "Shall we?"

Deth: (hesitating) "You don't have to. Stay, I mean. It'll be light in a few hours and you'd be stuck here."

Spike: (Sigh. Here we go.) "Haven't you heard? Boss-man's got a garage full of necro(fucking)tempered glass cars. I have no problem demanding transport, especially if I get to call him in the wee hours of the morning. And that's only if I feel the need to leave before dark, which is rather unlikely. Well, unless you don't put out, but frankly, what are the odds of that?"

This elicits a smile and quick laugh.

Deth: "We'll see. Think I need to do some sleeping."

Spike: "Sleeping happens to be my _second_ favorite activity. Maybe third. (beat) Certainly in the top five."

Deth: "I only have a single bed."

Spike: "You're talking to someone who used to sleep on a concrete slab. (beat) You trying to talk me out of it, or what? 'Cause if it's _your_ comfort you're so worried about…no, wait, I still don't care."

He knows she wants him to stay, but he wants her to say it. They stand there for a minute, Spike giving her somewhat expectant look. She takes a breath and in a slightly more serious tone, exuding a mixture of decisiveness and longing she responds:

Deth: "Stay."

He nods and then reaches forward, gently taking her hand, pulling her towards the front door.

Spike: "Alright then. Keys?"

She pulls a set of keys from her pocket and instead of unlocking the door herself, she hands them to Spike. He guesses correctly, turns the key and they step into the vestibule of the apartment building. She tells him what floor and what number; he leads the way, keeping hold of her hand.

Spike: "Single bed, eh? Good thing you're a cuddler."

She shakes her head, warmly—he's focused ahead, so doesn't notice. She loves how he does that—how he makes it about her. _She's_ the cuddler. 'Not so one-sided as all that, but she always lets it go. She doesn't mind much. Not much at all.

They arrive at her apartment. Spike stops at the doorway, waiting for the obligatory invite and takes the moment to comment.

Spike: "You weren't kidding—this place is _tiny_."

She steps through the threshold, muttering the necessary words, "come in".

Deth: "Spent a lot of time over at Darryl's. Haven't had a chance to look for anything else. Don't know if I will. (considering) I like it—my little cave."

Spike looks around. It's a small studio—bed in the corner, separated from the rest of the room by one of those room shades. There's a small love seat and coffee table; a set of bookshelves along the wall, filled. The room in painted dark blue, adding to the cave feel. On the walls and on the ceiling are a few pieces of art depicting under-water scenes, along with some of those star stickers that glow in the dark. Everything is neat, organized and clean, though her bed isn't made.

Spike: "It's good. All you need, really."

Deth: (thinking about this) "I'd like to have a tub—one of those big claw-foot things."

She lifts the strap of her tiny bag over her head (it's one of those small notebook sized hippie pouches) and sets it down on the table. She fishes inside to pull out a bottle of pills.

Deth: "Doc gave me some extra pain pills—want one? They pack a punch. I'm starting to feel _pretty_ groovy."

Spike: (shrugs) "Sure."

She hands him one and pulls a bottle of water out of the fridge. She swallows another half herself, without explanation. Spike takes his duster off and tosses it over the back of the love seat. She first sits, then after a moment lays down on the love seat, her head resting on the arm and her legs bent at the knee to fit. Spike sits down by her feet, lifting them and then resting them on his lap. Once they're settled.

Spike: "You gonna tell me what's wrong?"

Deth: "I've got 20 stitches in my arm and a big headache inducing bump on my head. Not to mention that I feel a bit stupid and useless for getting jumped in the first place."

Spike: "Not that."

Deth: (She frowns slightly.) "I was scared. More than I expected."

He shakes his head, knowing her answer still isn't quite right, but decides not to press. She'll tell him if he wants. She blinks slowly and deliberately—she must be feeling a dizzy.

Deth: (continuing her thought) "Don't know why it was such a big deal. They wouldn't've killed me. Don't think so. But it felt so _wrong_, so (She's searching for the right word, but can't find it; she settles) _alien_. I _had_ to run, get away—there was no choice. Didn't expect it. Strange that it should be so upsetting."

Spike: "No, not strange at all, actually."

Deth: "But _I'm_ strange."

She says this in a matter-of-fact way; no hint of insecurity.

Spike: "_Different_ might be a better word."

She doesn't say anything for a while. Spike spies some pictures in frames on the bookshelf and decides to take a closer look—seems like there could be some much needed distraction there. Lifting one up.

Spike: "This your mum?"

Deth: "No. I mean, yeah. Foster mom."

Spike: "Looks like Joan Baez."

When he lifts up the frame to look more closely at the picture, a folded up piece of paper falls out the back. He picks it up and starts to unfold it, all while anticipating her objection—It was obviously meant to be hidden from view. She just looks on. It's a sketch of a demon. Quite detailed. Drawn almost like a portrait. He doesn't recognize the species. He holds it out for her to see.

Spike: "What's this?"

Deth: "Pastuyk. (explaining) Demons who raised me. Drew it as best as I could remember—my…_mom_."

Spike: "You were just a kid, right? Eight or nine. (She nods) Ever see them again? (She shakes her head.) Must've been one hell of a childhood."

Deth: "I wasn't allowed to remember. Caused all sorts of trouble when I did. (Pause. She takes a deep breath, as if she's gathering up courage.) I liked them. The Pastuyk. I couldn't speak their language—didn't have the right machinery—but it didn't matter. I could understand, mostly. Only reason they gave me up was because there was another girl in the family—when she came close to… _the age_, it was too dangerous for me to live with them. Others were coming to it at the same time—woudn't've been able to help it. So they brought me up—left me in that playground. (beat) I….I didn't want to go."

She hadn't been looking at Spike when she said this—she'd been looking straight ahead. Once she's finished, she turns her head towards him with a look of expectant fear. When she'd started, he figured she was just making conversation—glad for the distraction from the night's events. But her intonation became something different.When she turned to look at him just then, he realized she was confessing. She was now waiting for his response—his judgment?

Spike: "No surprise in that. It's what you knew—'was your home."

She looks relieved and nods her agreement. He can sense that she's not finished. Maybe the pills have put her in a talkative mood—he doesn't mind much. It's a nice change.

Deth: "Took me a long time to adjust. Had to learn to speak properly—learn English. The usual stuff. (pause) No one else talked about them; no one acknowledged them. Took me a long time to understand they didn't see them—they weren't aware. I remember hearing kids talk about the Boogie Man and monsters under their beds or in their closets. I'd try to get invited to their houses so I could see—figured they were just demons and I _missed_ them. But there was never anything there—nothing to see. Got in trouble at school if I drew too many pictures—it's not right for a little girl to be so interested in monsters. When I was a bit older, we learned a bit about Greek mythology—just the basics. I showed an interest and my foster mom bought me a book. For a school report, I decided to write an essay on the likely origins of the monsters in the myths—to me, they were all bastardizations of various demon species, so I just wrote about what the "real" monsters were like and compared them to what was in the myths. Think I must have been in junior high. Didn't go over well. Caused a lot of trouble. First there was anger because the report was supposed to be based on facts and they said I'd written fiction. But it was when I kept insisting that it wasn't fiction that they called the child psychologists. I fought them all for a year—they pulled me from school, sent me to a special hospital, put me on medication. Then I figured it out. So stupid that it took me so long. They'd never believe—they'd never see. They didn't _know_ the reality—they refused to know. I had to pretend, too, like they all were. So I went back to school. I played along. But there came a point where I lost the distinction—the memories became dreams. I never even saw them anymore, or if I did, I instantly perceived them as something else. I wasn't sure. I went to college, like everyone else. Majored in Philosophy and Religion, with a minor in history—special focus in ancient mythology."

Spike: "Explains your career thus far as a bartender."

This cuts the intensity nicely, and you can see the tension lift as she melts into the cushion before continuing. She's back to feeling a bit more groovy.

Deth: "It wasn't until Darryl took the job with Wolfram and Hart that it became real again. Then they were _everywhere_."

Spike steps back over to the couch and sits down—he's starting to feel a bit groovy himself. He scans her expression a minute.

Spike: "And? I'm guessing there's more. This all ties back into tonight somehow, doesn't it?"

Without responding, she gets a funny, slightly bemused look on her face. She frowns down at her t-shirt. Lifting herself slightly, she proceeds to wiggle out of her bra, without taking her shirt of. She tosses it aside and then pulls the neck of her t-shirt out just enough to allow her to peer down it. Satisfied, she looks up.

Deth: "Boobies are nice."

Spike smiles.

Spike: "Yeah. I think those pain pills have made you a bit high, pet. Might be time to send you off to bed."

Deth: (ignoring him) "They're just so soft and round."

Spike: "Definitely preaching to the choir. (He reaches over and puts his hand on her newly freed breast through her t-shirt, massaging it gently.) This isn't the part of the evening when you confess to being gay, is it? 'Cause that could put a damper on things."

Deth: (Gazing at him through sleepy, relaxed eyes.) "I don't think I could be further from gay."

Spike: "Good. But if you _wanted_ to experiment a little, I'm all for it."

Deth: (Back to looking a touch more serious) "I like working at Harvey's. I like being around them. I know demons do terrible things and are more likely than not to be evil, but I'm comfortable there. They've never hurt me. (Pause a minute while she decides how much more to say. She's never said any of this out loud before.) Sometimes I think they're beautiful. (beat) How weird is that?"

He casually stops molesting her breast and sits back up slightly.

Spike: "You worried that makes you wrong, aren't you?"

She shrugs lightly.

Deth: "They like me, too. They talk to me at the bar. Remember those Quill demons a few weeks ago? I didn't sneak around them to get the Cup. I asked for it and they _gave_ it to me."

Spike: "That _is_ a bit bizarre. You know, honestly. Maybe the Pastuyk gave you something—an internal charm to protect you, make your life easier. Have you talked to Wesley about this?"

Deth: "Not really. Not everything. Don't know what he'd think. Maybe it says something about me. Maybe it's just…_me_."

And that's it. That's the heart of what's bothering her. He can tell by her relief on saying it out loud. Now, she's ready for sleeping.

Spike: "No sense worrying about it. You're lovely. Don't know that there can be any harm in liking and being liked."

Deth: (She smiles warmly at him) "Sleeping?"

Spike: "Yeah."

She dreamily slides off the couch and heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She returns to find Spike under the covers. He scrunches up his face when he sees her.

Spike: "What are _those_?" (eyeing her attire with obvious distaste)

Deth: "Pajamas."

Spike: "Uh, nudity rule?"

Deth: "But we're not in _your_ bed."

Spike: "Ah, see the rule applies to any bed I'm currently _in_."

She lets out a sigh, while she considers it. She feels a slight twinge between her legs when she imagines him naked under the sheets. She shakes her head, smiles and promptly disrobes. He gives her newly naked body a lingering gaze and then opens the sheets to invite her in to bed.

Spike: "Much better."

She lies on her back a minute and lets him leisurely run his cool hands over her in the usual way. There's a little routine he goes through. First, he runs his hand down the left side of her neck, just past the place where he'd bitten her weeks ago; then down to her left breast, where he pauses briefly to cup it and give it a slight, gentle squeeze. He drags the back of his hand down the side of her waist, outlining the first inward, then outward curve of her body. His hand takes a slight inward path and brushes over the bump of her pelvic bone, then outward along her thigh down to her knee. He turns his hand over and moves up her inner thigh, cupping the curve of her leg, briefly pausing again to cup her muff, sometimes running his fingers along the detail of her outer lips. Then it's everything in reverse up the right side of her body. Usually when his hand reaches the right side of her neck, he leans in to kiss the opposite side and works his lips upward to hers. Wonderfully relaxing—makes her limp. Tonight she wonders if she's ever felt so tired.

Deth: "Do you like being a vampire?"

Spike: "Aren't you a Chatty Cathy tonight? (beat) Silly question. Might as well as you if you like being a girl. Or a human. You are what you are."

Deth: "That's _such_ a cop-out."

Spike: (acquiescing) "Mostly, yeah. Used to love it. Now things are a bit more…complicated."

Deth: "I meant what I said before. (beat) You're the first demon I've ever dated, 'case you were wondering. (She turns to look at him squarely, her eyes showing the effect of the pills) I think your demon face is beautiful—every bit as handsome as your human form."

It's an odd sort of compliment. Relaxing, somehow. Having seen neither in decades, and before that only in sketches and a snapshot or two, he can't quite fathom it. He wonders if he'd ever describe a vampire as beautiful—in full game face. Yes, of course, Dru was beautiful—he loved any sight of her. But would he _now_?

Spike: (joking) "Aw, you're gonna make me blush."

She smiles.

Deth: "I should probably stop talking now."

Spike: "There _are_ better things to do with those lips."

He leans over and kisses her. It's soft and slow, going nowhere but towards sleep. After a moment, she reaches to her nightstand and turns out the light. Suddenly, all sorts of shapes appear to glow in the apartment. Spike scans the room.

Spike: "Got a thing for constellations?"

Deth: "They're _starfish_." (duh)

Spike: "Starfish? So _that's_ what your tattoo is. Looked a bit fat for an ordinary star."

Deth: "I like them."

Spike: "Starfish. That's a bit of an odd thing to fancy—they just lay there, being boring. How surprisingly girlie of you."

Deth: (defensive) "I don't see what's so girlie about starfish. They have their place. My foster mom took me snorkeling once. I liked it. (beat) Haven't been back. The sharks scared me."

Spike: "The _sharks_ scared you. How is it that you can stare down an eight foot, snarling Klarprhoth demon and yet be afraid of a big fish?"

Deth: "I knew the Klarprhoth demon wasn't going to hurt me. Have you _seen_ Jaws? Sharks are just swimming stomachs with big teeth. Nope, not setting foot in the ocean around here anytime soon. Just have to get myself an aquarium. (beat) And a tub."

Spike: "Any other fears I should know about?"

Deth: "Nah, just the big fish. I'd say 'sharks', but dolphins kind of freak me out, too. They're not fish technically, but same idea."

Spike: "This ought to be good. What is it about dolphins you don't like?"

Deth: "They kill sharks—they sorta torture them just for laughs. Sharks are really stupid, so you can't really blame them for biting anything that bleeds. But dolphins are clever. I think there's malice there."

Spike: "You're definitely an odd egg, Deth. And I mean that in the best possible way."

She leans over the edge of the bed, picks up a throw pillow and hits him with it. They both have a laugh before settling down for sleeping. She normally doesn't like to be on the inside of the spoon—too confining. But tonight, she encourages him to cuddle her tightly.

tbc...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Scene 1

A couple of weeks later, Deth's apartment. Spike and Deth are spooning in her tiny bed, pressed closely together. Close-up on Deth's face.

She's dreaming. It is one she has had before—she is underwater, floating. She looks up to see the surface many meters above her, the sun's rays dimming in their approach. The water is a calming blue. As before, she is able to breathe through the water; or perhaps she doesn't need to breathe at all. She can never remember which it is. What she lacks is the desire for escape that swells from the urgency of air. She is free of it, of everything. She leisurely pushes her way through the water, letting her eyes scan the bottom for life. She spies a small reef not far away, and makes her way towards it. There are multi-colored starfish increasing in abundance, as she approaches the ridge of teeming life. She is alone. There are never any fish in her dreams, or anything moving freely in the water except for herself. Just as she nears the reef, her forward progress is abruptly halted—she has stopped swimming and floats a moment, her legs pressed tightly together.

(Switch perspective back to the bed.)

Spike is awake, his lips just to the side of her exposed ear. With one hand gently resting on the outward curve of her neck towards her right shoulder and the other under her arm, holding her left breast, he shifts his body under the sheets—Deth's eyes fly open and a small gasp escapes her lips. His eyes close as he reassures her with a soft, whispered "shhhhhh" and a loving squeeze of her breast; he strokes the back of her neck with the thumb of his right hand until he feels her relax. Over the past half hour or so, he had been preparing her body as best he could without waking her. He had worked his moistened fingers between her legs while carefully massaging her exposed breasts. Her mind was still sleeping soundly, but he had felt her body respond surprisingly quickly to his touch. He knew she would wake up a bit disoriented, so he made a point of engulfing her entire body with his own, pressing skin against skin wherever possible. Now that he was inside her, he held that exact position a moment until he was sure she was fully awake and aware. For that moment, just an instant, it wasn't sexual; She was surrounded, penetrated by him, but there was no desire for escape, no claustrophobia; Her warmth had seeped into his skin so thoroughly that he wasn't sure he knew where his body ended and hers began.

(Author's note: subsequent HOT HOT HAWT love scene edited out to keep the 'T' rating. Sorry!)

(After the rampant shagging...) They lay like that for a while, until their breathing steadies. Once they are relaxed, she turns over to face him, smiling a bit sheepishly.

Deth: "Morning."

They kiss.

Spike: "Think that deserved at least a _good_ morning. Maybe even a _great_ morning, or _bloody fantastic_ morning."

She just smiles, sleepily.

Deth: "You want some tea?"

Spike: "Thought you only drank coffee."

Deth: (with a slight shrug) "Maybe I bought some tea."

Spike: "Yeah? Well then. (beat) You're not getting all _serious_ on me now, are you?"

He's mostly joking, but there's a part of him that worries a bit—his chest tightens slightly at the thought he might hurt her.

Deth: (giving him a blank look) "I spent $4.00 on a box of tea."

Spike: (incredulous) "$4.00? You got ripped off."

She shakes her head and slips out of bed, into a robe and off to the kitchen to boil some water. When she gets back, he is leaning up on his elbow, looking a touch contemplative. She hands him a mug, keeping the one with coffee for herself, and sits on the edge of the bed. He takes a sip and then looks up at her, frowning slightly as if he is thinking about what he should say.

Spike: (shrugging, trying to be very casual) "'think it's nice that you got tea. (He lets that hang there a moment, flashing her a warm glance. After a brief pause, he adds with the usual attitude,) But don't expect me to go out and buy coffee and one of those bloody coffee-making _contraptions_. If you want coffee at my place, you'll have to bring your own supplies. (adding) You _could_ keep some there if you _wanted_. I don't mind."

She smirks at him and takes another sip of her coffee.

Spike: "So you were dreaming about _starfish_?"

Deth: "Not _just_ starfish. Swimming in the ocean—underwater."

Spike: (frowning) "Well that's a bit disappointing, considering what your parts were up to at the time. Thought it'd be a bit more erotic, or at least amusingly awkward."

Deth: (thinking about it) "It's like when you're dreaming as a kid and you have an orgasm—you don't know what it is or why it happens—usually in the dream, you're just doing something you love to do. It has nothing to do with sex."

Spike: "Can't remember. (Well, he does actually remember, but he'll be damned if he's going to admit that his first wet dream involved a barefoot, night-time foray into the local bookshop.) You know there _is_ an ocean not too far from here. You should go—get one of those underwater masks or something."

Deth: (Scrunching up her face in a concerned frown) "Fish, remember? Every other week, there's a story about a Great White munching on some seals off this coast."

Spike: "I could go with you. At night."

Deth: (Giving him an 'are you kidding' look) "You really need to see Jaws. Besides, we wouldn't be able to _see_ anything in the dark. (contemplating something) Would you be all right under the water during the day? Would it be safe for a vampire?"

Spike: "Never really thought about it. Probably. Still, there's the problem of getting in and getting out. Don't fancy spending 12 hours under water—I'd get all pruney. (beat) But if you can find a way around that problem, I'd give it a go."

Deth: "Yeah? That's kinda sweet."

Spike: "Nah. Just think it might be fun to take on a shark—'bit of a challenge, that. Lots of teeth flaring about."

She smiles, skeptically, puts down her coffee and gives him an appreciative peck on the cheek.

End scene.

Scene 2

The offices of Wolfram and Hart. Deth turns out of Wesley's office, carrying a piece of paper with a list of books on it. Spike pops out of Angel's office, looking annoyed as usual after his meetings with Gel-Vader (as he's taken to calling Angel lately). His frown disappears when he sees Deth at the other end of the hall. He heads to cut her off.

Spike: "Working hard?"

Deth: (happy for the diversion) "Wesley's got me running down to the archive room every other minute AND looking after Illyria, who's been in a pisser of a mood tonight."

Spike: "Does she _have_ any other moods?"

Deth: (shrugging) "You'd be surprised."

Spike: "How's it coming with my little assignment? Pun intended."

Deth: (blushing slightly) "No time."

Spike: (shaking his head) "Lame. I get the feeling you're not taking this very seriously."

Deth: "Thought I wasn't supposed to."

He smiles at this. She _is_ quick.

Spike: "Think it might be time for an alternate plan. I have a feeling that might be a very _convenient_ little skirt you're wearing."

And with that, he moves in for a kiss, pressing her back against the wall. He reaches his hand down to the edge of her frayed, army green canvas skirt and is able to easily work his hand up it to feel her bare ass, which he grabs possessively. She breaks the kiss and pushes his hand away, looking around nervously.

Deth: (Trying to look stern and disapproving, she whispers.) "We're right in the hallway."

Spike: "Just testing the stretch factor—got to love the spandex revolution, don't you?"

He smirks and grabs her hand, leading her to the closest maintenance closet he can find. They emerge a short time later. They kiss intensely for a moment, before Deth wriggles away from Spike's embrace and rushes down the hallway, the paper she was holding now a bit crumpled. He stands there a moment, leaning against the wall just outside the door of the closet and lights up a cigarette. The "camera" pans to see Harmony across the room, holding an appointment book obviously on her way somewhere, but standing transfixed, frozen by what she just saw. She looks on the verge of tears, but then takes a breath, puts on a forced frown and stomps in the direction of Spike. On her way past, she stops and grabs the cigarette out of his mouth and tosses it aside angrily.

Harmony: "There's no smoking in here! Public places. It's the _law_."

She stands there a moment frowning intently at him, trying and failing to not let on how upset she is. He is hoping she will just walk away, but she seems committed to standing there until he says something. He never knows what exactly to _do_ with Harmony. She just doesn't _fit_ anywhere.

Spike: "Gonna rat me out to the boss-man? 'Cause I'm sure it'll be high on his list of priorities."

Harmony: (Her voice shaking slightly, though she's trying to sound stern.) "Maybe I will. There are, you know, policies and stuff. _Memos_."

He shrugs, dispassionately and walks over to the elevator to press the down button. She tries to look as angry as she can, but can feel the tears starting to well up. She quickly turns away and stomps back to her desk, throwing the appointment book down. She sits for a moment, looking lost, her arms crossed in front of her. But then you can see an idea hit her. She makes a "hmph" sound and turns to her computer and starts determinedly typing.

Deth walks into the lab where Illyria is being "kept", though in truth she can go wherever she wants and knows it. She is carrying a book and sets it down on one of the tables a few feet away. Illyria watches Deth as she enters the room. She sees Deth sit down, open the book and then appear to study it. After a moment, she cocks her head to the side and walks up to the table in her usual confrontational manner. Deth sees her approach out of the corner of her eye, but doesn't look up, hoping that Illyria will get distracted and not bother her. All she wants to do is sit and enjoy the thought of him.

Illyria: "You pretend to study, but you do not."

Deth looks up to find Illyria only a few inches away, staring down at her with penetrative eyes. She doesn't usually mind speaking with Illyria, but right now her mind and body are swimming.

Deth: "I'll get to it."

Illyria: "Wesley is impatient. You may anger him. He may stop speaking."

Deth thinks to herself, "She just can't get off that subject."

Deth: "It's _not_ urgent. Busy work until some meeting I'm supposed to go to."

Illyria: (More studying) Your heart beats fast. You have blood in your cheeks. Your skin is moist. (Processing this information) Is this illness?"

Deth: (Smiling broadly as she inhales deeply at the thought of the actual cause.) "No."

Illyria: "What is that you do with your face? It is disconcerting. (Reaching for a buried memory) A smile. (Leaning over, she grabs hold of Deth's face by the chin, looking more closely) Is this happiness?"

Deth: (annoyed) "Let go."

Illyria whips her hand away, then stares at it briefly as if it weren't under her control.

Illyria: (defensively) "I had enough information. Your body practically _sings_. It is vile. Luckily this state is uncommon here."

Deth rolls her eyes, good naturedly. Typical Illyria defense. She's so transparent. Deth doesn't respond, hoping Illyria will lose interest and go suck on a Petri dish or something. After a few more moments of penetrative staring.

Illyria: "Explain."

Deth: "I thought you had enough information."

Illyria: (Squinting her eyes in annoyance.) "I demand more. Explain _why_ your body hums."

Fine. If it will shut her up. Sigh.

Deth: "I just had sex. Sex is fun. (Realizing she may need to translate.) Sex—_mating_—can be very pleasurable. Must be the same with your species."

Illyria processes this. Relating what she knows about her kind.

Illyria: "Mating is complex. It is a struggle, a battle. There is a drive to accomplish it and feeling of triumph when successful. It takes planning, ritual, time. You were only gone from this room briefly. Can it possibly be accomplished that fast?"

Deth: "It _can_. Or you can draw it out for more prolonged pleasure, though most men have their limits at about an hour or so."

Illyria: "_Pleasure_. This is different. Your body responds now to the mention of it. But if you have _finished_, why does the response continue?"

Deth: "Oh, I'm definitely not finished. We mate continuously. (smiling) _If_ we're lucky."

Illyria: (A scowl descends) "It is no wonder, then, that your species populates this dimension like _vermin_. Your mating is simple, quick, pleasurable and unlimited. (disgust) You must breed like maggots, laying your eggs in every corner of this disgusting world."

Deth: "Hang on there, Smurfette. Before you go working yourself up into another tirade, sex/mating and breeding are two entirely different things."

Illyria feels her rage build at this insignificant human calling her by that name. Only Wesley has called her Smurf. She should snap her neck for her insolence. But she doesn't. She lets it pass, without even an admonishing word.

Illyria: "I do not understand."

Deth: "We have sex all we want, but we only _breed_ a couple of times, if that. (explaining) We have techniques, mechanisms to avoid producing offspring. Makes it more like recreation…bonding."

Illyria: (After a moment) "I will observe next time."

Deth: "Unlikely. I'll mention it to Spike, but I don't really think…"

Illyria: "Spike? He is your regular partner in this?"

Deth: "Yep."

Illyria: "He is somewhat pleasing. I enjoy his attempts to fight me. He doesn't stay down."

Deth stifles a laugh.

Deth: (Out loud, but to herself) "So true. Speaking of which, I don't actually need a mechanism anymore. Note to self: throw away pills. (pleased at her realization) Excellent."

Illyria: (disgusted) "You intend to breed?"

Deth: "Nah. Human babies just cry and scream. (off of Illyria's confused look) Different types can't breed together. So, like, you and Wesley could mate to your hearts content and nothing would come of it—you've got different….structures." (For lack of a better word.)

Illyria: (suddenly defensive) "Why would I want to mate with Wesley? He is foul like the rest of you. He is pathetic and weak. And his breath smells of intoxicant. (pause) Are you sure?"

Deth: (Thinking a moment; pulling the information from somewhere, she answers with complete confidence.) "Yes." (Even though Illyria is inhabiting a human body, somehow she just knows it wouldn't work.)

Just then, Wesley pokes his head into the lab. Illyria looks momentarily disconcerted and responds by smashing a shelf full of glassware on her way out the door.

Wesley: "What was that about?"

Deth: "The usual."

Wes frowns, not really understanding what she means, but not of a mind to push for more.

Wesley: "The meeting is about to start. We should head upstairs. Did you get anything from that text?"

Deth: "Sorry, Illyria was being needy."

He nods, understandingly. Deth stands up and they head in the direction of Angel's office.

Angel is in his office, getting briefed by Gunn about the upcoming meeting.

Gunn: "His name is…well, you won't be able to pronounce it anyway so never mind. Thing is, he's the ringleader of a large coalition of demon clans called the Djandni. They're mostly business types—they provide goods, services, loans, sacrificial animals, etc. to the demon community about town. Wolfram and Hart has handled many of their internal and external disputes, mainly involving money issues, damaged goods and the like. Their newly anointed leader is a Llyoobov demon—bit of an old-school mobster type from what I've been able to gather. We've brought him here to negotiate a new contract. We're hoping to use his current conflict with the Quills to press him for some changes, giving us more oversight into his day-to-day activities."

Angel: "So we can monitor what's going where, to whom and why."

Gunn: "Exactly. Should help us stay ahead of the game."

Angel: "What are the chances he'll sign?"

Gunn: "Hard to say. He refuses to speak English, so we've been working through an interpreter. He insisted on speaking to you in person before he makes any decisions."

There's a timid knock on the door and Harmony peeks her head in.

Harmony: "They're waiting in the conference room. I just got them some goat's urine like they asked, so you might want to give them a minute. It's kinda stinky in there."

Angel: "Thanks. (to Gunn) We'll head over as soon as Wes gets here."

Harmony: "Um, boss? (holding up a single piece of paper) Could you just sign this before you leave?"

Angel: "What is it?"

Harmony: "Just a memo. You know, office stuff."

She skips over to his desk, hands him a pen and slips the paper in front of him, her hand obscuring most of the text.

Angel: (Irritated at the distraction) "Harmony, I can't read it."

Harmony: (Pulling her hand away, as if it were an accident) "You don't really have to _read_ it. It's just a memo."

He frowns at her, looks as if he's about to sign and then glances at the subject line.

Angel: (reading) "Employee Dating Policy?"

Harmony: (acting casual) "Yuh huh. All the offices have one. Just thought it was about time we updated ours. Pretty standard."

Angel: (Rolling his eyes in frustration.) "First of all, 'affection' as in 'public displays of' is spelled with a 't', not an 's'; (frowning) I see 10 typos in the first paragraph. (reading) All cubicles, broom closets, elevators, coffins and designated snack room areas are hereby off limits to sexual activity of any kind, punishable by electric shock for first-time offenders and castration for any second offenses. Harmony, what IS this?

Harmony: (defensive) "Guess I was a little upset when I typed it up. I'll fix the typos."

Angel: "Don't waste my time."

He crumples up the paper and tosses it in the trash. Harmony starts to pout and her little chin starts to quiver as the tears well up. She glances through the glass at Deth approaching. She looks back, pleading to Angel.

Harmony: "Can't you just make them _stop_? Please?"

Damn, he's a sucker for a crying blonde; yes, even Harmony. He finds himself muttering:

Angel: "I'll mention it."

She smiles cheerfully and bubbles out of the room, giving Deth a smug once-over on her way out.

Wesley: "I thought it might be useful for Deth to sit in on the meeting. She might be able to pick up on something the translator misses."

Angel: "Fine. Let's go."

As they file out the door, Deth decides to comment to no one in particular:

Deth: "This has a very 'Next Generation' feel to it. Only with different hair issues. Don't know how I feel about that."

Everyone else is too focused to respond. They arrive in the conference room. It's Angel, Gunn, Wes, the translator, two of the ringleader's bodyguards and the Llyoobov demon. Everyone but the bodyguards sit at a long table. Deth sits next to Angel, across from and Wes and Gunn. Introductions, pleasantries, discussion of details ensue. Deth is still rather distracted and half listens. She recalls all she can about the Llyoobov, which isn't much and then lets her mind wander to more pleasant things. But somewhere through her distracted haze, she hears something that makes her snap back into focus. She looks quickly over to the Llyoobov, who she has decided to think of simply as "Lou" and finds him looking at her. He moves his gaze quickly away and says something to the interpreter.

Interpreter: "Everything seems in order, here. We'll be happy to sign the necessary papers so long as you agree to deliver what we discussed."

Angel: (Getting a nod from Gunn) "My colleagues can make the necessary arrangements. It'll just take a phone call."

Lou via Interpreter: "We'd prefer to wait until the call is made."

Angel: "Sounds reasonable."

He nods back to Gunn, who starts to pull out a phone.

Deth tries to kick Angel under the table, but instead kicks the table leg. Ouch. Wanting to prevent the call, but knowing not to openly object, she frantically tries to think of a cunning distraction. Gunn's dialing and she can't think of anything else, so she just starts "casually" rocking back and forth in her chair (like the kids do. ahem) until she finally leans back far enough that it falls over with a crash. They all look around awkwardly for a moment.

Deth: (Annoyed at the lack of response, she says, loudly:) "Ow."

Angel looks over at Wesley, who shrugs.

Lou/Interpreter: "Is the girl alright?"

Finally, Angel leans down, so his head is beneath the table.

Angel: (in a whisper) "What are you doing?"

Deth: (She waves him closer, then whispers) "He has no intention of following through with this—he's got other reasons for being here. Call him out."

Angel nods.

Angel: "Uh, yeah. I think maybe she should go down to the infirmary—she hit her head."

Just then she realizes she DID hit her head and it really hurt. Ow. Angel gives Wes a not so subtle eye signal.

Wesley: "Yes, why don't you and Gunn bring her outside—I'll call someone to meet you in the hall."

Angel lifts her up and they walk to the door. Gunn is still looking confused, but the minute they reach the door, Angel says.

Angel: "The deal's off. She thinks it's a trick."

Gunn: "Right. Time to renegotiate."

After leaving Deth outside, they return to the room and the discussion begins again. They're careful not to accuse him outright, but purposefully stall the negotiations to make it clear they know something is up. After a few minutes, one of Lou's bodyguards whispers something in his ear.

Lou/Interpreter: (in response) "I'm afraid I need to take my leave. I'm quite confident we can work something out that will be mutually beneficial. I'm having a little soiree Friday evening. Perhaps as a gesture of goodwill, you could send a representative to attend. As an incentive, I will make a few moments of my time available during the event to iron out some more details of our agreement."

Wesley gives Angel an approving nod. His research has shown that this sort of thing is considered customary in negotiations with the Llyoobov—they're actually rather social creatures.

Angel: "That won't be a problem. Gunn has the best knowledge of the current contract and can bring the appropriate paper work."

Lou/Interpreter: (Shaking his head) "You understand, we're not terribly fond of lawyers. In a social setting."

Angel: "Gunn's not exactly a real _lawyer_. I mean, he never actually went to law school or anything."

Gunn: (slightly offended) "Hey"

Angel: "Not the time to argue the point."

Gunn: "Definitely not a lawyer, me. Never even _seen_ the Bar exam."

Lou/Interpreter: "What about the girl? Assuming her head has healed adequately."

Confused/surprised looks all around.

Wesley: "She doesn't have the necessary experience with this sort of negotiation. She's a new addition to the firm."

Lou gets up to leave, but says one more thing to the interpreter.

Lou/Interpreter: "We look forward to seeing the girl on Friday evening. I'll have my own interpreter, should we need one. All the details are on the invitation."

He hands an envelop to Angel and exits with a short bow, his "men" following. After they leave, there is a moment of stunned silence.

Gunn: "Didn't see that coming."

Angel: "Can we _do_ that?"

Wesley: "I suppose. If she were willing. I doubt she'd be in any danger for reasons we've already discussed."

Gunn: "I can bring her up to speed on some of the bigger things by Friday. And I could be waiting by the phone if she had any questions."

Angel: "But why her?"

Wesley: "Perhaps he simply sees her as less of a threat."

Angel: "Or easier to manipulate. (beat) Talk to her. We've got a few days to figure this out."

Scene 3

Spike's apartment. Spike is lying on the couch, his head propped up on some pillows. We only see him from the chest up; he doesn't have a shirt on. His eyes are closed, but active under the lids. Periodically, he tenses the muscles in his chest and opens his mouth slightly, allowing a breathy grunt to escape; then a fleeting snarl, a frown, then back to a relaxed half smile. We hear a higher pitched moan coming from below and we pan back enough to see the top of Deth's head, bobbing up and down just below his belly button, her face and actions obscured by her hair. Pan back further to see her body nestled between his legs, her top half bare, her bottom half still in jeans, his pants pulled down around his ankles.

Spike: "Yeah, that's good. Mmmmm. God. (He lifts his head and shoulders slightly and opens his eyes) I want to see you."

She whisks her hair out of the way with her hand, so he can see what she is doing. She looks up at him while she pulls her mouth up over the top and then slides her lips down the side of his entire length, using a hand to support him from the other side.

Spike lays entirely passive underneath her, curbing even the slightest urge to thrust into her deliciously welcoming mouth. He doesn't want anything to do with it—_she_ will make him groan, whimper, whine, gasp, come in galloping spurts. He will only _let_ it happen. Such freedom in this. His mind washed clean of any responsibility, he lies there able to enjoy every tingle, every fired nerve. He feel himself stiffen more, preparing for the release. He delights in her groan when she notices the change. In response, she steadies and quickens her strokes. Oh, he's close.

Spike: "ahhhh…fffff…mmmggghhha. You're gonna make me come, baby. That naughty little mouth of yours….Uuhhhagahhh….Too much….fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuck."

Until he relaxes back, he is unaware that every muscle in his body had tensed in preparation for that orgasm. He is now making a sound resembling something between a purr and a low laugh. She plants a short, affectionate kiss on it before sitting up, her legs draped over his. She reaches for a half empty beer on the coffee table and takes a quick swig as she waits for Spike to regain some semblance of consciousness. He pulls his knees up a bit and she rests her hand on a kneecap.

Spike: "Mmmm. Have to say, after giving it some serious thought, I think you're rather gifted. Screw the demon psychic nonsense; if the world could be saved by _that_, you'd be the one to do it."

She smiles at the compliment and leans over to kiss his knee before reaching over to the floor to fish for her bra. She finds it and starts to pull it around herself to fasten the back clasp.

Spike: (watching her, confused) "What are you doing?"

Deth: "I have to go."

Spike: (shocked) "What? But you're _soaking_. Get your knickers off, it's your turn."

Deth: "No turn for me tonight. I have to go. (frowning down at the bra hooks) This is the second bra you've broken—they're not cheap."

Spike: "You're the one buying the fancy ones lately—they're pretty, but not up to vampire standards of durability. What happened to the plain ones you used to have?"

She shrugs, not wanting to admit that she had switched because she thought he might like the more feminine variety. She stuffs the bra in her bag and starts to put her shirt on. Spike interferes, pulling it back over her head and reaching around to take a breast in each hand and pull her towards him. She peels his hands off and wiggles away.

Deth: (admonishing) "Spike. (beat, explaining) It's just bad timing."

Spike: (Not getting it) "What?"

Deth: (Giving him a look as she repeats herself.) "_Bad timing_. I'm just going to call a cab."

Spike: "What are you on about? D'you have to work?"

Deth: "Come on, Spike. Think about it. (She's standing up now, holding her phone, preparing to dial) You know, those annoying commercials with girls doing gymnastics and swimming and cavorting on the beach. (Getting exasperated by his denseness.) Haven't you had a human girlfriend before?"

Just as she finishes saying this, she is hit with a wave of pain strong enough to make her double over slightly and rest her hand on the counter for support. The source isn't physical—the feeling not her own. It takes her breath away and for the first time ever, she knows what it is like to want to cry. Confused, she looks over at Spike. He is staring blankly across the room, frozen in thought. She suddenly realizes she is not breathing and quickly inhales. So much hurt and that was only a breeze of it. Her chests tightens at the thought that she's responsible for making him feel that.

Deth: (Are these tears forming? She can't stop herself from whispering,) "I'm sorry. I didn't know." (God, who _was_ she?)

He doesn't react to her words or perhaps doesn't hear them. In a second, the pain dissipates as quickly as it hit and they're back in the middle of their conversation as if nothing had happened.

Spike: "Oh, right. _That _kind of bad timing. I don't really mind, honestly."

Deth: "Well that's nice, but it doesn't actually have anything to do with you. _I_ need to take a pain pill and get in bed with a nice heating pad."

Spike: (pouting) "But I'll be lonely."

The last thing he wants is to be alone with his thoughts. Not after the crack, the opening, the water streaming through. He wants to be selfish and keep her here to distract him. He reaches over to the coffee table for the beer bottle and downs the remains.

Deth: "You'll manage. (Then seeing his puppy dog eyes staring at her. Sigh.) Guess I could stay a little while if you want."

He smiles, but then shakes his head.

Spike: "Go. I'm a big boy—I can spend one night alone."

Deth: "Maybe a couple nights."

He scrunches up his face in disappointment. She successfully calls a cab and then sits on the arm of the couch to wait. He watches her for a few minutes, thinking.

Spike: (slightly pensive) "You're too good to me."

Deth: "Not _too_ good."

Spike: "You're always doing nice things."

Deth: "You do your fair share."

He frowns slightly. After a few more moments of silence:

Spike: "'s just I don't want to…"

He is interrupted by a honk from the cab waiting outside. She gets up to go.

Deth: (As she's leaving) "It's Ok. Call me tomorrow."

After she leaves, he stands up and grabs another beer out of the fridge. He closes the door a bit too roughly, frowning to nowhere in particular.

tbc...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Scene 1

Wolfram and Hart. Angel's office.

Gunn has just opened the door for Deth, who walks in carrying a file folder. Angel is sitting at his desk and after closing the door behind her, Gunn walks around to the front of Angel's desk and half sits/half leans against it. Deth stands in front of them, looking uncharacteristically awkward. Perhaps it is the clothes she's wearing or the way she has styled her hair. She looks like someone who had dressed in a hurry—a thrown-together-in-a-whirlwind sort of semi-formal. But she had not been particularly rushed—the look was simply not her own and hence gave her an air of reluctance. A moment of silence passes while the scene settles, before the purpose of the meeting re-asserts itself.

Gunn: "How's our new best friend, Lou? We had you down for three meetings this week."

Angel: "Negotiations still running smoothly?"

Deth hands Gunn the folder.

Deth: "He pretty much agreed to everything we had time to discuss. Paperwork is all there."

Gunn: (flipping through the documents) "Damn, girl. We need to hook you up with the U.N. or something, 'cause you've got the gift—world peace, right around the corner. (beat) Never thought he'd give up his HS clients."

Angel: "HS clients?"

Gunn: "Human sacrifice. Names and locations for the past 3 months, all here."

He hands a piece of paper to Angel.

Angel: (to Deth) "You think he's sincere? Giving us real information?"

Deth: "As far as I can tell. He speaks English with me—the whole translator thing's a bit of a ruse. But everything's checked out, right?"

They both look at Gunn.

Gunn: "We're still working on what you gave us last week, but so far everything looks kosher."

Angel: "It's still only bits and pieces—scraps. He's dribbling it out. We need more to see the big picture."

Gunn: (to Deth) "You're seeing him tonight, right? Try and push the database access stuff. Having cross referencing ability will give us lot more bang for the buck."

Deth: "I'll try. (beat) He's definitely drawing this out."

Angel: "You think he's stalling?"

Deth: (shrugs) "I only get maybe 15 minutes to talk business with him at each meeting—the rest is all…well…_socializing_. (She says this with a bit of a sneer.) It's such a waste of time."

Angel: "Wes says that's the way we've got to play the game with his kind. We're making progress. Keep at it. In the meantime, Gunn, get your team to investigate what advantage he might be looking for with a delay—maybe there's something big coming up that he's trying to keep from us."

Gunn: "I'm on it."

He gets up and starts to head out the door. Deth doesn't move—she shifts her feet and lets out a small, inadvertent sigh. Gunn stops.

Angel: "Was there something else?"

Deth: "It's just…I've been getting a bit of a weird _feeling_ lately."

Angel: "Feeling. Is that like a vibe?" (hint of sarcasm; he has already mentally moved on to the next topic on his list and is annoyed at the delay.)

Deth: "Every time I go there to meet with him, there are fewer and fewer other demons around. At first they were like parties, then soirees and now it's like, four guys and some chip and dip. And whenever he's ready to 'talk business', he takes me into this _room_."

Angel: (Not really sure where she's going with this) "You think he's got surveillance equipment there?"

Gunn: "Or some sort of magic mojo to help influence the negotiations?"

Deth: (frowning, now ready to rant) "Every time I go in there, it looks a bit more like a set from a bad 70's porn movie, complete with fake zebra-skin couch, lava-lamps and push-button light dimmers and stereo system. I keep expecting a rotating waterbed with leopard skin sheets to pop out from behind the obviously fake bookshelves. Very Austin Powers. And I could SWEAR the other night, he _winked_ at me with one of his peripheral eyes."

Gunn can't help but smile and let out a small laugh.

Gunn: "You think that six-eyed, big-eared, scaly-skinned pig-man's been putting the moves on?"

Deth: "They're not actually ears—it's a circulation thing. (beat) But yeah, there's definitely a courtship vibe. And it's starting to give me some serious willies."

Gunn: "No doubt. Ech, that purple wart-covered tongue of his? Wouldn't care to see that flapping in a suggestive manner."

Deth: "'Not _exactly_ his tongue."

Angel: "You sure you're not imagining it? I think Wes would have mentioned if his species had a history of cross-species dating."

Gunn: "Then again, Wes hasn't exactly been in top form lately. I'll mention it."

Deth: "They don't. But believe me, it doesn't take an empath to see when negotiations are negotiations and when they're _negotiations_. I'm worried he's going to expect something—in payment for his cooperation. Makin' me feel kind of ho-ish."

Angel: You're probably blowing this out of proportion. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. And even if you're right, just because he expects something doesn't mean he's going to get it. Any guy who's dated knows _that_."

Gunn flashes him a that's-a-totally-inappropriate-thing-to-say-to-a-woman,-dumbass look. Deth frowns, disapprovingly.

Gunn: "We've got that alarm button rigged up on your cell phone—he tries anything inappropriate, we'll be there in a flash."

Deth: "He won't…try to force anything, I'm pretty sure. Still, maybe we can explore other ways to do this?"

Angel: "Keep at it—we're too close to lose this connection now. If you don't feel threatened, then I don't see what the problem is. As soon as we get what we want, you're off the hook."

Deth: (looking displeased) "Okay. But I have a feeling he's going to keep dragging his feet and this is already taking up far too much of my time."

Angel: (annoyed, his short fuse getting shorter by the day) "You got something better to do? Newsflash: those fighting the good fight don't get paid overtime. You said you wanted to help; _this_ is helping. Everything else can be on hold."

Deth frowns and looks at the floor, feeling a bit humbled. She nods and heads to the door, which Gunn opens for her, following her out.

She makes her way down the hall. She has a bit of time before she needs to leave, so decides to stop in to see Wesley and ask him about the Llyoobov. On her way to the office, she is pleasantly surprised to see Spike step out of the elevator. Her frown lifts instantly. She waits for him to notice her, but he seems distracted and doesn't look up. When he is just a few steps away from Angel's office (his obvious destination), she commits to getting his attention.

Deth: (In a soft voice) "Spike."

There is still a split second delay before he stops and looks in the direction of her voice. He gives her an acknowledging nod and walks over. By the time he reaches her, his expression has transformed from a distant frown to a pleased smile. He kisses her in greeting; more greedy than a peck. He doesn't step away, but keeps the distance intimate. His breath has a twinge of whiskey.

Deth: "Didn't expect to see you here."

Spike: "Had to talk to Lord Vader about something. (He leans in for another tasty kiss.) You coming over later?"

Deth: "Have to work."

Spike: "You bartending? I could stop in. (Off her look, he steps back a minute and gives her a quick once-over.) You look _wrong_—you're going to see _him_ again."

He stays back, the mood instantly cooled.

Deth: "Sorry."

Spike: (frowning, obviously annoyed) "Bloody perfect. That's the third time this week."

Deth: "Angel says I have to keep working with him until they've ironed everything out."

Spike: (suspicious) "You sure that's it?"

Deth: (shocked) "What, you think I _like_ spending time in his ode-to-goat-pee house of mildew?"

Spike: "He made his move yet? Layin' on the ol' charm?"

Deth: (Surprised that he hit it on the head so precisely) "Well, yeah. Sort of. But it's not like I'm _tempted_. (a touch of disbelief) Are you jealous?"

Spike: "Any reason I shouldn't be?"

Ouch.

Deth: "He's a Llyoobov _demon_." (Stress on the demon.)

Spike: "And you don't find _demons_ the slightest bit attractive."

Deth: (busted) "Ok, so maybe he's not bad looking. But even if I wanted to fool around, which I don't, I wouldn't know how it would actually work—I don't even know what parts are the important ones or what goes where. (Spike raises his eyebrows) Oh god, ech (shiver), I guess I _do_ know—(under her breath to herself) yeah, thanks for _that_ visual. The point is, this is _work_. Nothing more. They think it's important—that it might make a difference."

Spike: (finishing her thought; with an undertone of bitterness/sarcasm) "How can you say _no_?"

She's still a bit stunned by his tone—what's got into him? He's been drinking, for sure, but _why_?

Deth: (desperately earnest) "I _will_."

But it is unclear if Spike hears, because at that moment, Angel has popped his head out of his office, having heard Spike's voice in the hall.

Angel: (Impatiently) "Spike, are we doing this?"

Spike turns his head and gives Angel a begrudging nod before turning back to Deth.

Spike: "You working at Harvey's at all this week?"

Deth: "No. Not 'till Sunday."

Spike processes this and before turning away, lets his expression soften slightly. He knows he's being a bit of a bastard, but he's been lonely this week; and without distraction, his mind wanders to unpleasant places.

Spike: "Stop by in the morning if you want."

Deth seems a touch relieved by this and gives him a quick smile and nod.

In Angel's office, sometime later. The meeting is just about over.

Spike: (looking bored) "We done?"

Angel: "You in a hurry?"

Spike: "I'm always in a hurry to get out of this place."

He gets up to go.

Angel: (with a hint of confrontation) "So I've noticed."

Spike: "You got something to say to me?"

Angel: "Maybe I just get the feeling you're not taking this all very seriously…(beat)…Lately."

Spike: (skeptical, disbelieving annoyance.) "_Lately_. This wouldn't have anything to do with your recent foray into the art of pimping?"

Angel: "What?" (Honestly not getting it. Half the time he has no idea what Spike is talking about.)

Spike: "Oh, right, I believe they're calling it (making the quote marks with his hands) "contract negotiations" these days."

Angel: "Jealous of a Llyoobov demon? God you're pathetic. Though I guess Dru did leave you for a Chaos demon. Gosh, I still have a good chuckle every time I think about it. Antlers, slime, and yet somehow still more appealing than you."

Spike: "Laugh it up, Frankenstein. It's not Deth's interest that I'm sweating. Just don't want you lot putting ideas in her head—making her think she's gonna save the world by shagging someone for a bloody signature on a piece of paper."

Angel: (defensive) "I don't tell people what to do. (beat) Okay, so I do. (dismissive) But it's not going to go that far with Deth and the Llyoobov demon. (thinking about it) Well, unless it would _actually_ save the world, but that's highly unlikely—the guy just doesn't seem to have apocalypse potential, you know?"

Spike: "Whatever. I'll be sure to coach her to ignore you when you get annoying like I do."

Angel: "See, that's the problem. Listen, I'm pleased as punch that you're able to blow off some steam getting your kink on with demon girl—but when it starts interfering with…"

Spike: (incredulous) "With what? Tell me you didn't fall for Harmony's little tear-fest. God, you've always been a sucker for blondes."

Angel: "Harmony's not the issue, but now that you bring it up, it hasn't exactly _helped_ the work environment around here. The two of you making out in the hallways, goofing off on the job with everything that's happened lately; Deth walking around with a vampire hickey when I'm trying to enforce a no human blood rule. Tell me, would _you_ pass a random blood screen today? Not exactly sending the right kind of message."

Spike: "What's the problem, mate—your little canine doesn't let you take a nip now and again? (off Angel's about-to-explode-with-anger look) First, it was only the one time and it's not as if she didn't cover it up—can't help that _your_ perverted mind's always in the gutter, seeking that sort of shit out. And everything else is just bloody nonsense, like having a bit of fun 'round the office is gonna cause the walls to come crashing down around us or incite a riot. It's an escape, you repressed moron. Normal people get that. And what about you and dog girl anyway?"

Angel: "We limit out time together. And we're discreet, a concept you seem incapable of grasping."

Spike: "God, you probably shag on a schedule, too. (mocking) Pencil me in for thirty minutes on Tuesdays, love. Oh, but in your case, guess you'd only need five."

Angel: "Fine, the office stuff is just a minor annoyance. What worries me is you falling into your old pattern and letting that interfere with the job we're trying to do. You let yourself get distracted by women and you lose sight of what's important. Saving the world, averting the apocalypse; Any of this sounding familiar?"

Spike: (bitterness and anger growing; eyes narrowed) "Oh, is _that_ what I do?"

Angel: "It's why you sucked at being evil and why you'll never be any good as a hero. We've got too few people and too much stacked against us; I can't have you distracting my employees for selfish reasons and I can't waste the time worrying that you might not be there when things get nasty."

Spike: "You self-righteous piece of shit. You're unbelievable, you know that? Maybe my approach is a bit different from yours, but I get the job done just the same. And maybe I do take a bit more pleasure out of life than you do, but it's what keeps me fighting for this world, regardless of what side of evil I happen to be on at the time. More than I can say for you, point of fact. (letting his mind go) Everything I care about is here. _Everyone_ I care about. You think a little bit of comfort is enough to make me forget that? I've given _everything_ to make sure the world keeps going and I'll do it again; so bloody what if it's partly for _her_—to make sure _she_ gets to keep living?"

Angel: (unmoved) "And which _she_ would that be this time?"

Spike's hand instinctively folds into a fist, the rage overwhelming. But as his emotions swirl, the rage entwines with confusion and he looks at Angel with genuine disbelief.

Spike: "How can you even ask that question?"

Through all his animosity, annoyance, sometimes hatred of his grand-sire, the one tiny shred of emotional common ground he thought they shared, their sole source of mutual understanding was the slayer. They both loved her. They were both denied her. _Her_ feelings notwithstanding, there was a manner of comfort in this kinship. _She_ would always be Buffy. Maybe he was right all along; maybe Angel wasn't capable of feeling so deeply; maybe he had already forgotten. Stupid, undeserving bastard. Spike's eyes wander back to Angel's face, ready to pass judgement; ready to claim the loneliness and superiority of his own misery. But the mask of skepticism, coldness in Angel's eyes had faded to reveal a glimpse of the empathy beneath. His temporary superiority deflated, Spike abruptly turns to leave. On his way out the door, he mutters:

Spike: "Fuck off."

Like he needed another bloody reminder. That manipulative _bastard_. He hates that Angel played him like that. Hates more that he let him. The guy's dumb as a rock 95 of the time—since the soul anyway—Guess he had let his guard down taking that for granted.

Scene 2

A sidewalk, much later that night. Deth is walking briskly, obviously heading somewhere. Well, she's trying to walk briskly, but her heels keep wobbling as she makes her way over the crevice-filled, uneven pavement of this neglected piece of sidewalk. In frustration, she pulls off her shoes and continues on barefoot, tossing them in the first trash can she comes across as she walks by. She rummages through her bag as she walks, fishing out a pair of beat-up tennis shoes, which she slips on her naked feet while continuing her forward momentum. Just as she is approaching the alley entrance of the bar, her cell phone rings. She takes a deep sigh, obviously expecting and yet dreading the call she's about to receive. She stops, fishes the phone out of her bag and answers it.

Deth: "Hello."

Gunn: "Deth? It's Gunn. (pause) I just got a call from our man Lou's interpreter."

Deth: "I couldn't stay there."

Gunn: "Yeah, he mentioned you took off in a bit of a rush. What's up?"

Deth: "Things were just headed toward that line and I wasn't waiting around for him to cross it."

Gunn: "He danced around the idea that there might have been some sort of misunderstanding."

Deth: (sigh) "There was a guy there. A human. Thought he might have been a new servant at first, but as the night progressed, I got the feeling he was supposed to be some kind of…fluffer." (said with obvious distaste)

Gunn: "Fluffer?"

Deth: "Yeah, or maybe an offering? I sure as hell wasn't sticking around to find out."

Gunn: "You lost me."

Deth: "Oh come on. Don't you watch porn? A fluffer is someone who…"

Gunn: (interrupting) "I know what a fluffer is. Just don't get how it applies here."

Deth: "I think Lou hired this guy to be a fluffer for _me_—to, you know, get me in the mood or something. The guy looked like a porn star from the 70's—he was kinda flabby, had a ton of chest hair and a mustache. I'm thinking Lou's only source of info on human sexuality comes from the adult entertainment industry. God, it was awful." (shiver)

Gunn: "Did he actually proposition you?"

Deth: "Not in so many words. It was more of an implied thing."

Gunn: "uh-huh. You sure you're not just being paranoid?"

Deth: "I feel what I feel and what I was getting from him was a distinct desire to get me on my back. Well, technically, upside down and kinda sideways, but you get the idea. (thinking out loud) It was more that he wanted it done than wanting to do it."

Gunn: "Listen, according to his interpreter, he feels terrible and is mortified that he might have offended you in some way. He assured me it was all a mix-up. He was so distraught that he offered to do whatever it takes to finish up negotiations on your next visit."

Deth: "I'm not going back there."

Gunn: "I hear ya'. But the thing is, it sounded like he's prepared to give us just about everything we've asked for. And then some."

Deth: (pleading) "Gunn. This doesn't feel right."

Gunn: "Sleep on it. I'm sure we can work something out. (adding) Angel's not likely to let this drop."

Deth: (shaking her head) "Maybe. I don't know."

Gunn: "Check in tomorrow when you get in."

Deth: "Yeah, ok."

She closes up the phone and drops it in her bag with a frown. Before going in to the bar, she strips off her blouse, leaving just a red tank top beneath. She stuffs the shirt in her bag and pulls the clip out of her hair. She finds herself muttering under her breath "Could this day _get_ any worse?"

Once inside, she heads straight to a back room and emerges a few minutes later with an envelope in hand, whose contents she is thumbing quickly through. She looks up, satisfied with the amount, pleased that Harvey was able to pay her in _cash_ for a change. But before she gets halfway back towards the door, she sees something that causes her to stop abruptly. Across the room, she sees Spike sprawled on a chair near the pool table. He's got his hand on a half-empty bottle of something—liquor, not beer—and sitting on his lap, giggling in a most annoying way is some dark-haired, fire-engine red lipped vampire hoochie wearing a terribly inappropriate amount of sparkled eye shadow. The hoochie reaches over and possessively pops the cigarette of out Spike's mouth, takes a drag and then carefully replaces it. He barely seems to notice. His eyes are dimly pointed at the pool table, where two demons are having an animated discussion about the rules of nine ball, arguing specifically about whether a shot, uncalled, can be counted. After a bit of oddly polite and articulate banter on the subject, completely devoid of snarling or grunting of any kind, the situation is resolved and one of them nods toward the hoochie. She leans over to whisper in Spike's ear, letting her hand linger on his chest. In response, he looks sluggishly over at her, then hands her the cue, implying that he's either too tired or two drunk to take his turn and that she should shoot for him. She smiles seductively and snakes off his lap. Once she's gone, he takes another swig from the bottle, never taking his eyes off her leather-covered ass. Deth stands there, transfixed by the sight. She can't remember ever having seen his eyes so hazy with alcohol; so distant, detached, clouded. Snapping out of her momentary fixation, she reaches in her bag and pulls out her phone. She dials. We only hear her side of the conversation.

Deth: "Harmony, put Angel on the phone. (pause) I don't give a shit, put him on. (pause) I'm not going back there. (pause) Too bad. Find someone else. (pause) Fire me if you have to, I'm not going back."

She hangs up the phone, tosses it in her bag and strolls over to the table where Spike is sitting. The hoochie is now back in place on his lap, his hand firmly planted around her hip. Deth casually drops her bag on the table and looks straight at the hoochie.

Deth: (calm, decisive) "You can go now."

Spike doesn't look up, but continues his hazed stare forward.

Hoochie: "Excuse me?"

Deth: "You can go now. You're here because I wasn't, but now I am, so you can go."

Hoochie: (skeptical laugh) "Hardly. Spike's gonna take me dancing, aren't ya' hon?"

Deth lets out a brief sigh and then reaches over, grabs the hoochie's hair and yanks her off of Spike's lap in one smooth, almost calm motion.

Deth: (still in a steady voice) "I said, it's time to go."

Once she's standing, Deth shoves her toward the pool table.

Hoochie: (threatening) "Hey!"

But the demons who were playing pool, hold the hoochie back and manage to quickly whisk her away into the background.

Spike still doesn't look up.

Deth: (pleasant) "Mind if I take a swig?"

Spike: (looking straight ahead; groggy) "You're not supposed to be here."

Deth: "Came to pick up my pay."

Spike: (quieter) "not _supposed_ to be here"

Deth: (guessing why he's upset, she offers plainly) "I'm not going back. I won't see him again. 'told Angel he could fire me if he wants."

Spike shakes his head and lets out a quick breath. Perhaps amused that _that _is what she thinks this is about.

Spike: "Do what you like."

She frowns, a seed of panic now firmly planted in her.

Deth: "Look at me."

Spike: (he keeps his head down; pleading) "Go home, Deth. (beat) _Please_."

He takes hold of the bottle on the table, possessively, but doesn't actually move it. She stares down at him, desperate for an explanation; wishing she could read him like the others. She gets fragments sometimes, wisps of things; only the most desperate get to her. Now his drunkenness forms a cloud, a buffer, preventing her from getting anything from his words. She reaches over to touch his cheek, hoping to wake him from this stupor. He pulls away and she quickly withdraws her hand.

Spike: "Get away. Go. I don't _want_ this."

He pulls the bottle to him and takes a deep swig, still averting her gaze.

Deth: "I'm a good listener—ask anyone around here. If you want to talk."

Something is swelling in him; he tries to suppress. He tries to shunt the sadness into anger.

Spike: (a hint of malice) "I don't want to talk, don't want you to listen, don't want you here, don't want y… (he doesn't finish) If you won't leave, I _will_."

Like tiny shards of glass blowing towards her, grazing her skin. Or sparks off a campfire that burn in a shower of fine stings. That's what these words bring through the filter of alcohol.

Spike staggers up, dropping the chair behind him. With the bottle in hand, he heads to the door with a weary, unsteady determination. She follows him out, not knowing what else to do, stunned by this sudden eruption. He falls towards the side of the alley and leans against it, his face in anguish.

Deth: "You shouldn't be out like this. Let me take you home."

Spike: (slurring slightly) "Don't you get it? I'm not going _anywhere_ with you. Now sod off and leave me be."

Deth: "Spike, look at me."

Spike: "Push off. Find someone else."

Deth: "Look at me."

Spike: "I don't want to."

Deth: "Look at me."

He glances towards her and then with a wince, quickly looks away.

Spike: "I _can't_.

Are those tears she saw? The shards are getting bigger. Something is brewing, but she can't seem to stop herself from pushing.

Deth: "I don't understand. What's wrong?"

Spike: (shaking his head, he steps away from the wall) "I warned you. I told you to go away. Now you'll have to hear it. (He looks at her through the sides of his anguished eyes) I can't look at you because if I do, I'll be reminded again that you're not _her_. (tears are flowing) No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, you'll never be _her_."

Deth: (Her expression static, she instinctually responds) "I won't hurt you."

He bitterly scoffs. He didn't want this to happen. He didn't want to see her tonight. He'd get things under control in a day or so—that's usually what it takes when he's feeling like this. But now the floodgates are open and his razor tongue is no longer under his control.

Spike: (ranting) "Who are you, anyway? You're just a girl. 'Not that you can help it, but you're nobody. You're nothing."

As they've been talking, a few demons come and go on their way to and from the door. Just as Spike finishes this last insult, a burly demon with large, circular horns protruding from the sides of its head brushes past, clipping Spike with his shoulder, muttering:

Horned Demon: "She's everything, dumbass."

The collision almost knocks Spike over, his balance shot from all the drinking. He steadies himself against the nearest building, ignoring the demon's utterance.

Spike: "I can't forget. It's _everywhere_. S'no room. (voice declining to a mutter) S'no room for your bloody coffee maker."

Deth just stands there, taking the barrage. Without saying a word, she turns to go, unable to look at him; unwilling for the moment to feel _his_ pain. She needs to know how much of it she owns. Spike leans against the wall a moment after she leaves, head swirling. He closes his eyes, frowns deeply and then smashes the bottle angrily against the bricks.

Scene 3

The next day, late-morning. Inside Spike's apartment. He's lying face down on the bed, fully clothed, his feet still incased in black boots, hanging off the end. The phone rings. After about 10 rings, he reluctantly stirs, sluggishly rolling off the bed. He flips a light on and shuffles to the phone. But when he picks it up, there's just a dial tone. He shakes his head and puts the phone down, looking totally spent. He walks to the sink and splashes some water on his face. Dripping over the sink, he glances at the French press sitting on the counter, still half full with stale coffee and frowns. As he's drying his face with a towel, there's knock at the door. He glances at the clock, 11:30am. He reluctantly walks over to the door, hesitating a moment before opening it. When he does, he finds Deth standing in front of him, her goose-pimpled arms wrapped around herself for warmth. She's careful not to look him in the face.

Deth: (coldly) "I'm locked out; I need the spare."

Spike steps away from the door, giving her room to enter. She takes a few stiff steps inside. As she passes him, he notices she smells of salt and sun; that sweet musk of skin that's been freshly burned and touched with a thin layer of sweat. Amazing that he even remembers the smell—not something a vampire encounters much. There's also a hint of blood.

Spike: "Your foot's bleeding."

Deth: (looking down) "I lost my shoes—stepped on a piece of glass or something."

He takes a moment to look her over more closely. Her clothes look stiff, her hair uncombed, the seams of her skirt damp. Her face and arms show a hint of pink and her nose is covered in tiny brown freckles.

Spike: "You've been out all night. (She nods) Guess you didn't get my note, then. I waited around 'till just before light. Luckily, I'd sobered up enough to remember not to turn myself into a heaping pile of dust by stumbling out into the sun."

His pleasure at seeing her is growing by the minute.

Deth: "Can you get the key?"

Spike: "Yeah, sure."

He walks over to his duster, strewn across the floor near the bed, pulls a set of keys out of the pocket and works the key off the ring. He hands it to her. She looks at it a moment and then walks into the kitchen.

Deth: (as she's walking) "What did it say? The note."

She wants to not care, to stay angry, but she's curious.

Spike: (Scrunching up his face, thinking about it) "I have no idea. Probably an apology of some sort, though I can't be sure—memory's a bit spotty."

When she gets to the kitchen, she takes the French press and empties the contents into the sink, rinsing it. She tucks it under her arm and turns back towards him. Her plan had been to get the key, pick up the coffee maker and leave. But now her legs don't seem to be cooperating—she stands in silence for a moment. Spike is watching her closely; curious, afraid, remorseful. She sighs, takes a determined step towards the door, then stops and turns back, looking him directly in the eye, her brow furrowed.

Deth: "What do you want from me?"

Spike: (Taken aback by the directness of the question, he first looks flustered, then sad.) "I don't know. (pause; resigned) Can I just not know? Would it be all right for me not to know? (She doesn't answer) I was off my head last night—those things I said to you…"

Deth: "You meant it. Every word."

Spike: (frowning) "Doesn't mean you should have heard them. There's a lot you don't know. (shakes his head) Makes me crazy sometimes."

A few more moments pass.

Deth: "I never asked to be her."

He nods. Point taken. He's amazed how much she can say with so few words. She turns to leave.

Spike: (Feeling a desperate need for her to stay, even for just a few more minutes.) "Where did you go? Last night."

Deth: (looking over her shoulder) "The beach." (She moves to take another step, then stops, staring down at her feet.) "Can I borrow some shoes? Or socks, or…"

Spike: (a cautious smile) "Yeah, sure. 'should put a bandage on that foot, too."

She nods. He moves around the apartment, gathering supplies, while she leans against the arm of the couch. He pulls a chair up and sets to work cleaning and covering the cut; she winces occasionally.

Deth: (His tender touch warming her, she relaxes; her rush to leave tempered.) "Would make a more interesting story if I could say it was a shark's tooth. But I think it was just a piece of glass."

Spike: "I won't tell. Shark's tooth it is. (beat) So you went in. (she nods, he smiles) Impressive."

She had ended up at the beach last night, her feet propelling her towards it as she'd attempted to walk off her thoughts and cares. Once there, her focus turned to the water; to the escape that was promised under the surface. Yet her fear grew as she approached the crashing waves and she had ended up pacing the wet sand for hours and hours, attempting to stare down the black water, _this_ battle consuming all her conscious thought. It took until daybreak for her cold determination to force her limbs in the right direction; she'd thrown her shoes and bag back towards the dry sand and ran into the crashing waves. Her heart racing, she'd managed to fight her way past the cresting waves to the point where her feet couldn't touch the bottom. She dove under water, the salt stinging her eyes; of course she had no goggles, so there was nothing to see. She let the current carry her a bit and then charged back out again. She'd never been so scared in her entire life; it took hours for her mind to stop spinning and her blood to calm. She'd sat in the sun, recovering, taking some pleasure in her little triumph.

Deth: "It was very, very cold."

Now finished with the bandaging, Spike looks at her with weary eyes, not knowing what else to say to keep her here.

Spike: (Eyeing the French press still tucked firmly under Deth's arm. Trying to be cheerful.) "Should we make you some coffee, then?"

She frowns slightly, not quite ready to release her grasp.

Spike: (more serious) "I _like_ having it here. I like seeing it every morning. Don't even mind the smell."

He reaches for it, gingerly.

Deth: (firm) "I deserve more than to be a distraction."

Spike: "I know. You are. (beat) I'm just a bit damaged, is all. Do you think you can live with that?"

Off his look, she releases her grip, letting him take it. He goes into the kitchen and puts some water on to boil. When he returns, he pulls out a cigarette and goes to light it.

Deth: "You mind not smoking when I'm here? (off his confused look—she had never objected before) Second hand smoke. Cancer. I plan on keeping all the years I've got coming."

He shrugs and puts it away.

Spike: (with a touch of playful distaste) "You plan on getting old, wrinkly and shriveled, then?"

Deth: "Yep. (pause) So I was thinking maybe I could use your shower—wash some of this salt and sand off."

He can't help but betray a wide grin. For the first time, she smiles back. She pushes off the edge of the couch and walks with just a slight limp to the bathroom. She strips off her crusty clothes and steps into the shower, after carefully removing the fresh bandage from her foot (to be replaced afterwards). She stands under the stream, her muscles relaxing under the warmth of the steaming water over her naked body. She hadn't realized how completely exhausted she was until now; she closes her eyes and lets the water pour over her face. The sides of her mouth turn up as she hears the shower curtain being pulled back. Spike takes a moment to absorb the sight of her naked, glistening body before stepping in. She opens her eyes to find him beckoning for the soap. She hands it to him. He turns her around so that her back is towards him. He quickly sets to work lathering her body. He begins at her neck and shoulders, massaging them gently with his soap-covered hands. Then down each arm, all the way to the tips of her fingers. Getting more soap, he then reaches around and starts lathering the front of her neck, then downwards over her collar bone, taking more time than necessary once he reaches her breasts, unable to refrain from kneading them, working her puckering nipples between his soapy fingers until they're taut. She feels a familiar twinge between her legs every time his fingers slide over the tips. He is amazed how quickly his horribly hung-over body responds to this stimulation. He reluctantly moves his hands away from her soapy (and VERY clean) breasts, down the sides of her abdomen, across her stomach, pausing just to stick a teasing little finger in her belly button. He pulls his hands back around and lathers her lower back; when his hands reach the sides of her hips, he kneels down so he can more efficiently massage the soap into her lower body. He takes his time with her healthy ass, carefully kneading each cheek before slipping a hand between them. Saving the best bits for last, he carefully moves his hands down each of her thighs, calves and feet, working his soapy fingers gently into her flesh along the way. She keeps her eyes closed; she thinks how unbelievable it is to be so carefully attended to; she feels the hurt and tension of the past 24 hours slipping away under his expert hands. Once he has finished her legs, he turns her back around. He teasingly takes his time re-applying the soap to his hands, as she bites her lower lip, waiting to see how he'll choose to clean the rest of her. He moves his hand over her mound, soaping the hair until it forms a rich lather. Finally, he reaches between her legs and she moves her legs apart slightly to accommodate him. He works his fingers in every crevice, along every surface. She finds the soap and starts moving her hands over his taught, dripping body, cleaning him gently. He turns to put her back against the side of the shower, giving him a bit more leverage. She grabs a bottle of shampoo and sets to work lathering first his hair and then her own. He turns them into the stream for a moment to rinse, never stopping his rhythmic motion. They're both too tired to say much and stick to a more limited vocabulary of grunts and moans and gasps. He hears himself whisper between breaths as he's coming "I'm sorry. So sorry." She wraps her arms tightly around him and closes her eyes, worried by how exquisitely happy she feels, despite everything.

(AN: last scene edited to keep T rating. You get the idea...)

End scene.

tbc...


	5. Chapter 5

AN: This is going to be a hard one to edit down, as the sexual situations are not superfluous, but sprinkled with plot points. I'll do my best, but consider yourself warned. The scene in question is #3.

Chapter 5

Scene 1

Spike's apartment, sometime later. Open with relaxed moaning heard offscreen. Pan to the bed, where Spike is laying face down, his upper half naked and exposed, his lower half under the sheet; Deth is straddling him at the level of his bum. She is wearing just a tank top and some knickers, which she had negotiated to keep on due to her chill the night before—or was it two nights now? There is an open bottle of scented massage oil on the bedside table.

She rubs her hands together, coating them evenly with a second batch of oil before pressing them against his impossibly white, flawless skin. After a quick once-over to coat the length and width of his back and shoulders, she sets to work on the muscles along his spine, working her thumbs upward and outward from the bone creating a set of little fans, or wings in the oil as she works from the base upwards towards his neck. When she reaches the top, she takes a quick moment to squeeze the muscles along his neck, smoothing the skin out towards his shoulders with her full hands. Though his skin feels oddly cool, she is amazed how similar the muscles feel under it to any other back she had massaged—amazed because the flesh is meant to be dead. It's so easy to forget. She moves her hands down from his shoulders, now pushing the tips of all five fingers into his skin and the muscles underneath in a series claws down the far edge of his back; each time she pauses to work her fingers into tiny circles, he moans his approval. She can't help but admire the flesh before her—a perfect triangular shape. Muscles for definition only, not bulk; much more rewarding to the hands and eyes than a back thick with flesh. She'd be happy burying her fingers in it all day, listening to his low moans and appreciative grunts. She sets to work with a bit more force, using a rolling fist to penetrate beneath the skin.

Spike: (his head to the side) "Hmmmph. God, that's nice—what're you doing again?"

Deth: "Dispersing the toxins. (beat) From your recent _binge_."

This is the first they have referred to the events of the other night. As she continues with the massage…

Spike: "Not sure the same principles apply to dead flesh, but it feels alright."

Deth: "Probably a load of bull anyway, to be honest. Claire—my foster mom—took a massage therapy course once. She used to set up a table at Grateful Dead shows to earn extra money. Took me along sometimes."

Spike: (quick laugh) "How did you escape becoming a hippie with a mum like that?"

Deth: "I had a mum like _that_."

Spike: "Fair enough."

More silent massaging. A contemplative frown descends on Deth's face.

Deth: (said, matter-of-factly) "I won't put up with any more hoochies."

Spike: "What hoochies?"

Deth: "Like the one from the bar, for example."

Spike: (smiling coyly) "Don't know _what_ you're on about."

She shakes her head and whispers her fingertips to the far side of his back, causing him to squirm abruptly.

Spike: "That tickles….(she continues)…Stop it….(more squirming)…(laughing now) Oh, _that_ hoochie. Barely remember—miss all the good bits when you're that pissed. Was she cute?" (She swats the back of his head, playfully) Right. No more hoochies."

Deth: "Good."

Spike: (naughty smile) "_Although_….I seem to remember quite enjoying the way you tossed her aside—by the hair, wasn't it? Wouldn't mind seeing that again."

Deth: (smirking with an eyebrow raise) "I wouldn't mess with me. I've got friends in high places."

Spike: "Perhaps not anymore."

Deth: "You think he'll fire me? I like working there. (beat) I like Wesley."

Spike: (mock jealousy) "Really? (turning around underneath, so he's now on his back, facing her) Didn't think he was your type."

Deth: "I like _working_ with him. He knows a lot. Only pays just enough attention—it's relaxing. Besides, I find him completely asexual."

She has now put a bit more oil on her hands and is massaging his chest.

Spike: "I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear you say that."

Deth: "Do you know why Illyria likes him? Seems odd."

Spike: "Wasn't aware she did."

Deth: "It angers her. She can't stop it. (beat) Must be the girl she _was_. Did he love her?"

Spike: "In a repressed, English school boy sort of way, I suppose."

Deth: (changing the subject) "Illyria wants to watch us have sex."

Spike: (brief pause) "Okay."

Deth: (scrunching up her face) "Uh, _not_ okay. I only mentioned it because I thought it was funny."

Spike: "Guess it could be a bit dangerous. Especially if she decided to join in."

Deth: "I'd rather not think about it."

A few more minutes of silent massaging—he closes his eyes as she works her hands over his pecs, gently rubbing her thumbs into the relaxed muscles around his nipples. She suddenly has a desire to lean over and nibble on one, but before her thought translates to action, he says:

Spike: (eyes still closed) "What do you think of Angel?"

He tries hard not to let on just how important her response might be.

Deth: (without a beat; completely honestly) "I don't."

Spike: (opening his eyes, smiling) "That is _such_ the right answer."

She can't help but smile back. She knows Spike and Angel don't get along, but has never imagined that it goes so very much deeper than that.

She works her hands down to the muscles of his abdomen, thrilled to find that she can feel every one flex under her fingers when he lifts his head slightly. She criss-crosses her fingers over them; still slick with the oil, they slide across without resistance. She can feel him start to harden underneath her, but neither of them are in a rush to change the mood.

Deth: "What about a cave entrance?"

Spike: (confused frown) "Non sequitur alert. You really could work on your transitions, luv."

Deth: "To the sea. A cave entrance, so you could go in during the day."

Spike: "Maybe, yeah. But you seem to be doing alright on your own."

Deth: "Hm."

She frowns, not completely confident in her ability to overcome her fear so quickly. She'll keep her eye out.

Spike: "So what do you want for your birthday?"

Deth: (a shocked expression sneaks across her face before she has the time to temper it) "How did...?"

Spike: "'Nicked a bit of cash from you the other day—saw your drivers license. By the way, I owe you a fiver."

Deth: (grinning a bit) "It's not _really_ my birthday. Just what the Pastuyk picked."

Spike: "Figured it was a bit too odd for _you_ to have been born on Halloween."

Deth: "Yeah. Guess they figured it was a festive time for humans and a safe time for me to go out if I wanted."

Spike: "How old, then?"

Deth: "Twenty-seven. About."

Spike: (teasing) "Getting up there. Shouldn't you be thinking about squeezing out babies and the like—biological clock and all—instead of hanging about with the likes of me?"

Deth: "Don't want babies. Never have. Too many other things to do."

The minute these words leave her mouth, she is completely shocked by a wisp of a thought that flickers across her mind. As she glances up at him, his stunning blue eyes hold her gaze a moment—in that instant, her thoughts whisper that she might want _his_ baby. She quickly shakes it away, mildly amused by her silliness. She wonders if she might not be so different from other girls after all—she had always snickered at friends who'd made comments like that, firm in her belief that she was of a completely different sort, immune to such feelings. She rolls her eyes at herself and shakes her head.

Spike: (noticing her bemused look) "What?"

Deth: "Nothing."

Spike is also surprised by a twinge of pity he feels for her—a remnant from his genteel past, probably. Back when he was simply William, women got married and had babies—it was expected; family was everything. And that small, distant part of him can't conceive of someone dismissing that life entirely. But then he returns to himself and smiles at the thought that assuming she's telling the truth, he won't have to worry about her running off with some human any time soon or feel guilt that he might be depriving her of something.

Spike: "So what's it to be then? For your birthday."

Deth: (contemplating) "I'd like to go out. Someplace nice. For dessert. Think I might like to wear a dress. Don't get me anything—just spruce up a bit."

Spike: "'Think I can manage that."

After a pleasant pause.

Deth: (resigned frowning) "Guess I should turn my phone on—find out if I'm fired or not."

Scene 2

Wolfram and Hart. A week or so later.

Deth wasn't actually fired—thanks mostly to Wesley's insistence and Angel's listening to reason. Every now and again, Angel would have moments of his old self; not the grumpy, reluctant bureaucrat he'd become. They would explore other avenues with the Djandni; keep relations pleasant with the Llyoobov demon. Deth agrees to consider meeting with him again at the W&H offices. In the meantime, she goes back to helping Wesley out with research.

On this day, they're in his office, looking over some files. They're both working in silence, with only an occasional word between them.

Deth: (without looking up from the file she is hunched over) "What's a slayer?"

Wesley looks up from the book he's reading, a completely perplexed frown covering his face.

Wesley: "You honestly don't know? (Deth looks up casually and shrugs) How can you not know? How can you know so much about demons and not know what a slayer is? How very odd."

Deth: (slightly defensive) "A slayer's not a demon. (beat) Right?"

Wesley: "Well, no, but she's certainly something that demons are concerned about—vampires especially."

Deth: "I've never mixed much with vampires, remember?"

Well, until recently, she thinks to herself.

Wesley: "Still, quite surprising. Is there a reference to the slayer there? (Indicating the file she is looking at) Is that why you ask?"

Deth: "No. Must've overheard something about it—her—at the bar. Just remembered to ask now."

In truth, she doesn't know when it popped into her head—maybe a dream? Suddenly, in her mind, there it was—Slayer—with no explanation. Wesley stammers a brief explanation and instead of elaborating, pulls a book off his shelf and hands it to her. She takes a moment to leaf through the first few pages, but then puts it aside. She finds herself experiencing a pang of fear/concern for Spike—she'd never imagined that a being existed whose sole purpose was to kill vampires.

They go back to the task at hand—conversing briefly about this and that. After going through a personnel file from an ex-Wolfram and Hart employee, Deth gets an idea.

Deth: "Does everyone have a file here?"

Wesley: "Yes, I imagine we all have files down in the file room, disconcerting as that is."

Deth: "Only employees?"

Wesley: "Oh no. It's quite extensive, actually. Anyone who has ever been of interest to Wolfram and Hart has a file—much like the FBI I imagine, only for all eternity. And _openly_ evil, of course." (He smirks slightly.)

Deth: "Maybe there's a file on me. I mean, a human baby raised by demons might have raised a red flag or two."

Wesley: "You'd think that would've gotten their attention, wouldn't you? I did check the files initially and finding nothing here, I put in a request to the Chicago office to see if they had anything. I'm afraid I never got around to following up."

In fact, he'd repeatedly forgotten to follow up on investigating Deth's background. Too many things kept popping up—things more pressing and important that Angel has forced priority on. Not to mention that he has never quite regained his focus. Things pop in and pop out of his mind through the haze of his melancholy.

Deth: "There could be something in there to explain things—explain _me_."

Wesley: "Yes, the Llyoobov demon's behavior was quite peculiar, wasn't it? On top of everything else."

Deth: "And he hasn't been the only demon sniffing around. My tips have tripled at the bar the past few weeks—demons have been disconcertingly chatty."

Wesley: (lifting a curious eyebrow) "Any patterns in terms of which species are paying you the most attention?"

Deth: "Not that I can tell. Vamps are the least friendly, but that's typical. (pause while she thinks about something) Could it be because of Spike? Maybe because they know I'm dating a demon, they think they have a chance?"

Wesley: "Possibly. But that doesn't explain why demons who have never shown an interest in humans should suddenly start with you. (beat) Why don't you go down to the file room and see if anything ever arrived from Chicago. I'll have one of my people do a search on cross-species dating involving humans to see if anything like this has happened before."

She nods and heads out the door. Wes picks up the phone, but then gets a call from Angel on another line. He takes it and then promptly forgets about the search he intended to request and goes back to browsing the book on his desk.

Deth enters the file room, which is attended by a woman dressed like a librarian. When she gets a bit closer, she notices that the woman has decidedly non-human eyes peeking behind her half-rimmed glasses and a bulge in the back of her shirt, indicating some sort of spiny projections. The name Kinegue surfaces in Deth's mind.

Kinegue: "Can I help you find something?"

Deth: "Can I browse the files?"

Kinegue: (frowning) "I'm happy to bring you whatever files you need. We don't permit browsing."

Deth: "Can you check to see if any files have arrived from the Chicago office? The name would be Meredeth Nyssa."

Kinegue: (Her eyes glaze over for just a second, as she is obviously retrieving this information from somewhere) "Nope. Sorry. Anything else?"

Deth: "I'd like to have a look around myself. (more emphatic) I _want_ to browse."

She stares at Deth blankly for a moment without speaking; her glowing green eyes blinking slowly behind her glasses.

Kinegue: "Alrighty, then. Here's a map of the filing system. Let me know if you have any questions."

Deth steps around the desk after taking the piece of paper with the rather complicated map on it. She navigates to the appropriate file cabinet and opens it. She looks at the tabs of the first few folders and then sees the one she's looking for: Spike, AKA William the Bloody. Ok, so maybe there was a touch of a ruse here. But she couldn't stop her curiosity when she remembered the existence of the file room. She simply needed an excuse to make the trip, both for the appearance of propriety and her own peace of mind—seems a touch less like snooping this way. She quickly discovers that Spike's "file" is actually 3 folders, filled to capacity. She pulls them all out, sits on the floor and gets comfortable.

Hours later, she emerges from the file room, looking a bit pale. She returns to Wesley's office. In his typical distracted state, he barely noticed she was gone. Upon seeing her, he remembers where she had been.

Wesley: "Any luck?"

Deth: (with a disconcerted tremble in her voice) "No."

Wesley: "Remind me tomorrow to put another call in to Chicago. Wouldn't surprise me if they were holding back—the other offices aren't terribly cooperative with us."

Deth: "Sure. Uh, so if you don't need me, I think I'll head out."

Wesley: "Yes, certainly. It's quite late, isn't it? Do you need a car or is Spike taking you home?"

Deth: "I'm fine."

He nods and gets up to pour himself a drink. She picks up her things and leaves. She stops in the snack room to pick up a bottle of water she'd left in the fridge. She is so distracted by her thoughts that she actually walks by the entrance once before remembering where she was going and why. She stands at the fridge with the door open for quite a long time until someone else comes into the room, snapping her out of her daze. She takes the bottle of water and leans against the nearest wall while she takes a sip. Finally, she makes her way towards the elevators. She stands there a few minutes, without pushing the button, staring in to space. Just as she leans forward to summon the elevator, she hears her name. It's Spike, just leaving Angel's office. Her eyes widen slightly as he approaches. She doesn't look at him directly, but instead shifts her eyes down and to the side, nervously. He strolls up casually. She doesn't move towards him.

Spike: (a bit surprised by her stance) "Don't I get a kiss?"

She nervously glances up at him and then awkwardly leans forward to give him a quick peck. He stands back to look at her a moment. Not only are her cheeks uncharacteristically flushed, but her heart is beating fast and furiously—certainly increasing at his approach. Very odd. Not that he isn't flattered to produce such an effect on a pretty girl, but Deth isn't really the sort for such things. He ignores it for the moment.

Spike: "Yeah, uh, I've got a bit of a thing to take care of—some nonsense errand that apparently I'm the only one suitable to do; or some such bollocks. Anyway, should only take an hour or so. I'll pop by after. Or d'you want to wait at my place? (not waiting for her to answer) Think it might be time for another Mexican night—I was thinking _'Once Upon a Time in Mexico'_, tequila of course, and…(considering)…Mexican body sundaes. You get the ice cream and I'll take care of everything else. Oh, but we're running a bit low on chocolate sauce."

Deth: "Think maybe I'll just go home, get some sleep tonight. Feeling a bit funky. Not the best of days. Bit of a scratchy throat—maybe I'm getting a cold. So, uh, yeah, I should probably just take it easy. Drink some juice, take some vitamins. I hate colds. So if I can avoid getting one, I probably should. So, you know, just going to crash. If you don't mind. Tonight."

He stands there, squinting and looking perplexed. Her voice is even stranger—a waffly sort of higher pitch than normal. And the babbling—totally new and puzzling. He's about to call her on it, when Wes pokes his head out of his office.

Wesley: "Deth, glad you're still here. Would you mind having a quick look at something? I meant to ask you before, but it slipped my mind. It should only take a minute."

Deth: (relieved by the distraction) "Sure, great. No problem."

And she practically skips off toward Wesley's office, leaving Spike standing at the elevator with a confused frown. He shakes it off and leaves, planning on catching up with her later anyway, despite her ramblings on about being sick.

A couple of hours later….

Spike appears in the doorway of the bar they sometimes attend—the one where they had the quick shag in the corner. He had stopped by her place, but got no answer and decided to try this place before heading off to Harvey's. From across the room, he sees her playing pool—actually, he sees her finish a game of pool, easily sinking the eight ball to win the game. The bloke she was playing steps around the table, picks up his drink and appears to start chatting her up a bit. Seeing her usual aloof manner, Spike smiles to himself, knowing the bloke's attempts at flirtation are useless. But just when it looks like he's about to push off, she gives him one of her little half-smiles. Spike frowns, feeling a twinge of jealousy. Still, her demeanor is suitably cold, so he won't let himself get too worked up. After a minute, the guy pulls out a pen from his pocket, grabs a napkin from a nearby table, jots his number down and hands it to her. She shrugs, but takes it. Satisfied, the guy gives her his best smile and then leaves heading toward the back door. She frowns as she examines the piece of paper; the frown is quickly replaced by a look of resignation as she stuffs it in her front pocket. She steps toward the bar, carrying her half empty glass. Spike strolls towards her. She doesn't see him until he speaks.

Spike: (pleasant; definitely more curious than angry) "I hope that's orange juice you're drinking, what with you being ill and all."

She turns towards him, practically knocking her glass off the bar. She catches it before it falls over and then lets out a nervous laugh as she glances at him and then quickly looks down to the floor and then off to the side with a coy smile. There goes her heart again, though this time she seems to be able to settle it after a few seconds. She looks back up at him, a pink flush in her still freckled cheek. He can't help but laugh at her a bit—she's acting like a nervous schoolgirl on a first date. He might even find it a bit sexy if it weren't so very out-of-character.

Deth: "Sorry. I felt a bit better."

It's completely obvious to him that she's lying. Huh. Before she can finish, he steps forward, thrusts his hand in her front pocket and pulls out the napkin with the number on it. Without saying anything, he balls it up and tosses it in a half-empty glass at the bar.

Spike: (a touch more serious) "What's this about, then?"

Deth: "Nothing. I don't know. I'm just…"

Spike: "Are you mad with me about something? Still worked up about the girl the other week—I was just scamming at the bar, honestly. Nothing more than a bit of a grope."

Deth: (eyes widening) "No. I don't care about that. I just wonder if maybe…maybe this isn't right."

Spike: (slightly worried now) "What isn't right?"

Deth: (conflicted, frustrated) "I don't know. (beat) I'm just a girl, remember?"

Spike: (confused) "What? Music's a bit loud in here, let's go outside."

He heard what she said; felt the sting of his own words thrust back at him. But from her tone, he can tell this is not the conversation to have in a bar. She nods and they head outside into the alleyway. Once outside, she stands there, shifting nervously—he's scanning her, getting lost in her dizzying body language.

Deth: (unsure) "I think maybe I need some of time."

Spike: "Time for what, exactly?"

Deth: "Can we talk about this later? Tomorrow?"

Spike: "I'm still not clear on what we're talking _about_. What's happened?"

Deth: "I'd rather not say."

Spike: "Sorry, luv, not an option—you've already started it."

Deth: (slight panic) "But I haven't figured it out yet."

Spike: (dismissive) "Just tell me already—you know you will. You're terrible at keeping secrets."

Deth: "I did something I shouldn't have and now I can't take it back."

Spike: "But you want to take it back?"

Deth: "Maybe. Probably. I'm not sure."

Spike: (frustrated) "So tell me, then. You can bet I've done a lot worse."

Deth: "You might be annoyed."

Spike: "Unlikely" (Though he's starting to have a twinge of worry.)

Deth: (still only glancing at him from time to time—never holding his gaze) "I…I looked at your file."

Spike: "My file?"

Deth: (looking straight down at the ground now) "Your file at Wolfram and Hart. Everyone has a file. Well, everyone who's important."

Spike: (slowly processing what this means; a bit deflated) "And you saw mine."

Deth: (resigned to confessing now) "Not so much saw as found. And not so much looked, but read cover to cover. Or should I say covers to covers—it was pretty long."

He has to stop himself from saying something cocky like "I should hope so"; Once he's able to squelch his initial feeling of pride, it slowly sinks into his brain what sorts of things would actually _be_ in his file. And what sort of read that might be for a girl like Deth. In truth, he'd had a nagging fear this might happen. That she'd find out the details of his rather infamous past—his evil heyday. She might find the demon in him beautiful, but she's not a killer, nor the sort to look too kindly on the acts of horror he used to routinely commit. It was nice to not have a past for a while—to have someone see him only as he is now. He feels a weight descend at the realization that she might never look at him quite the same way again.

Spike: (shaking his head, he mutters almost despondently) "What'd you go and do that for?"

Deth: "I wanted to know what makes you so sad."

Spike: (Ok, time for damage control) "Listen, I'm not the same person as I was. Well, I am, but…I'm not. I mean…I don't get off on that stuff like I used to. (It'll be a cold day in hell before he'll play the "soul card" like the Big Poof does on a daily basis.) I did terrible, horrific things and truth is, I loved it. But I'm done with that now. (Scanning her face, trying to read her reaction) You know I'd never raise a hand to you, right? You needn't fear the monster I was—Everything is different."

Deth has been standing, listening, shuffling her feat. But when he says this last thing, she looks up at him determinedly, with wide, frantic eyes.

Deth: "I'm not _afraid_. It's not that. I knew you were a vampire and I knew you didn't always have a soul. (beat) But I didn't know you were….you know, like, famous. (not quite the right word, but she can't decide how to put it) I mean, before you were just this hot guy—this fun hot guy who was cool and smart and kinda sweet and _really_ good in bed. But now you're like this epic person with this big epic story. I mean, it's like something out of a mythology text—no less fantastic than the ancient legends I used to study in school, only it's all true. I…I can't really relate to that. I feel like one of those women in the Greek myths who suddenly wake up one day to find the man they've been sleeping with is actually Zeus or Aries in disguise. I mean, it's a lot to take in all at once."

Spike tries to stop himself from letting out a small laugh, but can't. Mostly it's a kind of relief.

Spike: "_That's_ what you're upset about? First, you read too many stories…or maybe not enough. Whatever, I think it might be time to cut back on the Greek stuff for a bit. Second, I may have done a couple of extraordinary things in my day, but I've mucked things up plenty of times—don't know if they mentioned that in the file."

Deth: "But it's that, too. It's everything."

Spike: "Trust me, I'm the same idiot I was last week. You're being silly."

Deth stands there, her eyes full of emotion. She furrows her brow and says with determination:

Deth: "No. I'm not."

Something in her tone cuts through the comedy and he feels her seriousness settle on him. He marvels at the admiration in her eyes—shouldn't he be allowed to for just a moment? He also sees the pity illuminating the edges and knows she must have got the answer she was looking for after all in those pages of text. Not sure how he feels about that.

Spike: "This shouldn't change anything."

Deth: (unswayed, with an almost pleading tone) "I'm _Twenty-six_."

She's never felt so young, so new to the world.

Spike: (not knowing what else to say, he offers:) "Going on Twenty-seven."

Deth: "It's like you said—I'm just…"

Spike: "Forget what I said. You need to learn to ignore me sometimes—I'm a mess, remember? S'what epic adventures will do to a bloke. (beat) You're _not_ just a girl—not to me. Not anymore."

She fights the urge to insist that she _is_. That maybe she's in over her head and she'd be better off finding a plain, ordinary boy to go out with. Not that she could ever go back to that.

(Spike thinks to himself) Funny, when her told her that in his miserable drunken state—told her she was nothing, it was all in comparison to Buffy. Not that _that_ makes it any more acceptable, but he certainly wasn't comparing her to himself—swagger aside, he'd never seen himself that way. No one else seemed to. Well, maybe Dru back in the day. But no one else. He'd always made his own way, his own fanfare. Ironic that now that he's saddled with the guilt of his past—the curse of his returned soul—he can't truly fathom being the object of anyone's admiration or sympathy. Seeing both in Deth's expression, he doesn't know what to make of it. He feels a swirling mix of guilt, pride, comfort and grief. Something to be worked out later. For now, he'd just as soon heave it all to the back of his mind, watch a film and lick chocolate sauce off his impossibly cute girlfriend. Actually, she can lick the chocolate sauce off _him_—he'll stick to the creams.

They stand in silence for a minute or two—both caught up in their own thoughts. Deth still feels somewhat overwhelmed, both by her new knowledge and by her realization that at this point, she couldn't _not_ see him, despite herself. Oh, this could be very bad….

Deth: "What about peanuts? (off his confused look, explaining) Mexican sundae's have Spanish peanuts."

Spike: (smiling now; he reckons a Spanish peanut would fit nicely in her belly button) "Guess maybe we'll have to stop at the shops on the way. You ready to push off?"

Deth: (brief pause; wishing she had more time to process this, but resigned) "Yeah."

End Scene.

Scene 3

Time passes leading up to Halloween and things go on pretty much as usual.

As expected, Deth just needed some time to process what she had learned about Spike's past and once she had done so, was able to take it in stride. She can't quite look at him like she used to—how can you let your eyes linger at the surface, knowing the depth that lies beneath? But she does her best to act like nothing is different. She tries not to contemplate the tragedy of it and is careful not to ask too many questions of recent events—words from this time are still ragged, sharp and bloody. She restricts her occasional inquiry to a detail here and there. She never asks about _her_. To Deth, the subject brims with anger, not jealousy. Strange. She'd always preferred tragedy to comedy, so why despise the character who'd turned events from one to the other? Because it's _his_ tragedy, _his_ pain, _his_ story to which there is no satisfactory end. Eh, better to focus on other things…

Wesley had little luck getting information about Deth from the Chicago office. They did have a file, with a brief report about her being found in the schoolyard, raised by demons, etc. But then it just appeared to stop. As if someone had deliberately made the file dormant at that point or soon after, pushing it back to the archives un-noticed. He decides to take a different approach and have a psych team interview a few of the demons Deth has specifically mentioned to see if they are consciously aware of her seemingly special status. Well, that was his plan; he'd only made it as far as putting in a call or two and they'd yet to actually bring anyone in for questioning. He'd get to it, once the whole Halloween business had blown over. There'd been a sharp spike in demon activity about town the past couple of weeks—lots of out-of-towners showing up. Not causing an excessive amount of trouble, but Angel had him investigating each and every species newly spotted in the city as a precaution and this was taking up most of his time. They were an odd mix—not particularly violent; some had barely a mention in his library of texts because they mostly stayed out of the human realm. Interesting. Lorne had been given the task of inviting as many of them as he could find to the dreadful office Halloween party as a means of getting a closer look. Oddly, most had responded in the affirmative. Wesley had hoped to avoid the party, the memories from last year still too fresh in his mind. Hopefully, he'll be able to distract himself with the study of these rare species. And, of course, a bottle of single malt.

After getting the news that Darryl had officially transferred to a different office and would therefore not be attending the Halloween party, Deth tells Spike she wants to go—she'd always enjoyed them in the past and it seemed as good a way as any to start off her birthday celebration. Their plan is to meet at the party and go out afterwards.

Scene: The night of the grand Halloween party at Wolfram and Hart.

Lorne is flitting around, pleased as punch at the record turnout. Angel is as grumpy as ever at having to schmooze; he's more relaxed this time though, and begrudgingly makes the rounds with Lorne with a typical put-upon frown. Nina makes an appearance and his mood moderately improves. Still, it seems a bit more rowdy than last year and with the new batch of demons attending, everyone is a bit on edge. Well, except for Spike, who is quite happily sipping a drink near the bar, leaning against a table waiting for Deth to arrive (so they can leave). Well, that's his plan—to stay for the minimum possible amount of time. He's quite pleased with himself—bought some new clothes, cut his hair—spruced up nicely just as she asked. In truth, he doesn't mind much—he knows he looks good and likes the extra attention. He is looking forward to seeing Deth—she had been a bit coy the past few days and insisted she was too busy with _things_ to see him_—'personal business'_ she had said with that sideways smile of hers. Right. He hadn't pegged her as someone to make such an event out of a birthday, but he'd been wrong before. Anyway, she should be there in a minute.

Just as he has this thought, Deth slides through the lobby and into the main party room. Spike glances toward the door and has to do a bit of a double take to be sure that it's her. Before he has time to let his eyes settle, there's a disruption near the bar—couple of demons shoving each other over their place in the line. He puffs a laugh at the chaos and then turns back to get a longer look at Deth as she walks slowly through the room towards him. She looks absolutely stunning. She's wearing a deeply red dress—a sort of a brownish, burgundy red. It's fitted silk, Dupioni or something similarly stiff through the body. It is sleeveless with a wide, square, deeply cut neck. There is a flair of softer silk lining the top, but not enough to obscure much of her considerable cleavage. The skirt is straight, with another flair up the slit at the back to break up the hem and make it look a touch less conservative. The back of the dress is open down to the small of her back, revealing a swirling pattern of henna tattoos in matching color coming down her neck and across her shoulder blades. The reddish hue of the henna and the dress compliment the red in her hair, which she has extended beyond the under-layer to highlights throughout the blonde. It's up in a loose clip, allowing enough strands to fall to keep it a bit funky. She's wearing a delicately sexy amount of make-up; just enough to make her features stand out. After drinking in the sight of his suddenly gorgeous girlfriend, Spike takes a quick scan of the room, enjoying how many eyes are following her walk towards him. What's so very striking is that instantly, all the subtly that used to define her has vanished. That is the true difference—it's why so many of the faces in the room appear to be seeing her for the very first time. It's not the hair, or the dress or the make-up, its the lifting of a shade. Everything about her tonight screams "look at me" and oddly, seems perfectly natural.

A few more scuffles erupt around the room, but neither she nor Spike notice. She's seen him now and is smiling warmly as she approaches. Until now, she wasn't sure he'd taken her birthday request very seriously—she is pleased to find he has cleaned up far beyond her expectations. She notices his hair first—she'd often wondered about the hair; she'd thought about suggesting a cut, but wasn't clear on whether or not it would grow back. Vampire physiology is still a mystery. Ooh, but she likes the shorter, textured hair with a hint of curl. He is dressed in black, as usual, but shockingly his pants aren't denim but rather a clean, smooth sort of brushed cotton accompanied by a black leather belt defining his narrow waist. His shirt, only partly tucked in, is long sleeved with rather inconspicuously shear narrow stripes lined with a very faint silver glimmer. The top three buttons are undone, showing just enough of the pale white skin underneath and a silver chain around his neck.

She stops when she gets about a foot in front of him—he's still leaning against a table attempting to feign a look of cocky indifference. They smile at each other a moment before he takes her hand and forces her into a little twirl so he can have a proper look at her.

Spike: "Don't you look flash."

Deth: (with a smirking grin) "I'm so much hotter than dog-girl."

He laughs.

Spike: "I should think so. (beat) What's with the tattoos?"

Deth: "Henna—there was a woman in the street doing them. Thought it would be fun. Got the dress to match."

Spike: "Sexy. What do the markings mean?"

Deth: (It hadn't even occurred to her that they might have meaning) "Oh, don't know. 'Just came to me."

Spike: (trailing his fingers down one of the henna lines to the top of the fabric below) "Do they keep going?"

Deth: "You'll find out later."

He stands up properly and then turns her back around, pulling her towards him so that her back is pressed against him. He slips his arms around her waist and plants a kiss on the base of her neck.

Spike: (whispering in her ear) "Every bloke in here wants you. They all want to be with you."

Deth: "Good thing you're the only one to catch my eye. Seems right—we're the best looking people here."

Spike laughs.

Spike: "Listen to you. All cocky and boastful."

Deth: "It's my birthday—I'm ready to be the center of attention."

She can't explain it, but she _is_ ready. For the first time, she doesn't mind a bit that all eyes are on her. Just so long as two of those eyes are Spike's.

Spike: "Oh, right. Happy Birthday."

Deth: (with a little nod) "Thank you."

Spike: "Let me know when you want to leave."

She twirls a step away from him.

Deth: (ignoring him) "Think I'm ready for a drink."

Just a she says this, three demons who had been standing nearby, thrust three glasses in front of her, each with a different sort of cocktail. She frowns slightly; Spike waves them off.

Spike: "What do you want?"

Deth: "Champagne."

Spike turns to grab a glass of full champagne from a tray on the bar; when he turns back around, a different set of demons are all holding out their own champagne glasses. Deth ignores them and takes the one from Spike's hand. After a sip.

Spike: "So…how much longer you figure we should stay?"

Deth: (smiling, shaking her head) "I want just two drinks and a dance. Then we go for dessert. (beat) And I mean actual dessert, not figurative dessert."

Spike: (exaggerated sigh) "You're really going to draw this out, aren't you?"

Deth: "Haven't you ever heard of delayed gratification?"

Spike: (scrunching up his face in mock confusion) "No, can't say that I have. Though I'm sure Angel could give me a much informed definition."

Deth just gives him an eyebrow raise.

Spike: "So what happens after dessert?"

Deth: "I assume that's when I get my extra special birthday shag."

Spike: "Oh right. 'Suppose I'm responsible for organizing that one, aren't I? I'll see what I can whip together."

Deth: (downing her glass of champagne) "I'm ready for my dance now."

Spike: "A bit bossy tonight."

He doesn't mind. Without further protestation, he takes her to the dance floor and they have a nice, leisurely sway to whatever music is playing, their bodies pressed tightly together. Many eyes are on them, but they don't notice. As the song ends, Deth whispers in Spike's ear.

Deth: "I want to blow you."

He can tell from her tone that she means _now_. Without a word, he takes her hand and leads her away from the crowded room. He has a quick look around the various hallways and decides to go to Angel's office. He jimmies the lock. Once inside, he moves a chair to block the door and pull the shade down over the window. They move over towards Angel's desk. Spike leans back against it and pulls Deth toward him for a kiss. She pulls away before their lips meet.

Deth: (quoting a line from a movie they had recently seen on cable) "I'd like to kiss you, but I just washed my hair."

She runs her hands down his chest, then over the front of his pants then back up to start unfastening his belt. He watches her every move with growing hunger. Before she drops to her knees, she whispers:

Deth: "Tell me about my birthday shag."

He stops her from dropping

Spike: "Maybe we should move the timing of that up a bit."

Deth: (shaking her head) "They'll be no mussing until after dessert. And you're _not_ going to rip this dress."

She slides her hands down the sides of his body as she drops to her knees. She's been thinking about this from moment she laid eyes on him tonight—envisioning what they'd look like—her dressed to the nines, picture perfect, queen of the ball—on her knees sucking him off in some dark corner. She pulls his pants down and a few inches and looks up at him, licking her lips seductively. Before continuuing, she looks up at him coyly as if she doesn't know what she is supposed to do next.

Spike: "If this is supposed to be some sort of lesson in delayed gratification, I get it."

He looks practically frantic and she loves it.

Deth: "Oh, we haven't even started yet. (beat) _Tell me_."

Spike: "Right. Birthday shag…uh…"

(more dirty talk and birthday fun...)

Suddenly, there's a noise by the door—someone trying to push it open. A hand reaches around to pull up the blind to see what's going on inside. Deth ignores it and keeps pumping away, not letting it disrupt her rhythm. Spike turns his head to find Angel glaring at them through the now uncovered window in the door, looking very angry. He unwittingly lets his stare linger on a bit too long. Noticing the direction of his stare, Spike flips him the bird and turns back to enjoy the rest of his blow job, assuming Angel is now embarrassed enough to leave them too it. He is and does.

Deth smiles, proud of herself as she gets up off the floor. He fastens his trousers and belt and they're about to head out the door when Spike gets an idea. He drops to his knees, reaches up under Deth's skirt and emerges with her soaked thong. He smirks and stuffs it in his pocket.

Spike: "I want everyone to smell you—smell what we've been doing."

She suddenly questions her decision to postpone the birthday shag, but shakes it off and follows Spike back into the party. As promised, they stay for one more drink. Things start getting a bit rowdy, demons shoving each other, fights breaking out, various yelling/roaring matches. Angel and the rest do their best to keep things as calm as possible, but there's a feeling that the party is getting out of control. Spike and Deth decide to leave, as it's getting more and more difficult to avoid the chaos.

They go to a nice restaurant for dessert—one Deth had picked out. Despite their mutual arousal, she is determined to take her time—draw out the night. After a while, it becomes a sort of game—who can think of another excuse to delay the birthday shagging just a bit longer—who will be the first to crack? On their way out of the restaurant…

Deth: "What now?"

Spike: "I quite fancy a quick game of snooker."

Deth: "I've never played."

Spike: "Then it's quite likely to take _hours_."

Deth: "Doubt we could find a table anywhere at this hour."

Spike: (smiling) "True. (beat) There's always _bowling_."

Deth: (happy to give in) "Perhaps it's time to head back to your place."

Spike: "'Need to stop at your flat first."

Deth: (frowning) "Why? Single bed doesn't exactly scream 'birthday shag' to me."

Spike: "My present is at your flat."

Deth: (confused) "Can't my "present" (she makes the quotes with her hands) be at your apartment, too?"

Spike: "Oh, right. When I say present, I mean actual present, not figurative present as in sex and/or multiple orgasms."

Deth: "You weren't supposed to get me a present."

He muses to himself: God, she looks happy. Wonderfully relaxed and happy. Makes him want to see her this way all the time—didn't seem to take all that much effort, honestly. He wonders how long he could keep her in this state—it's infectious.

Overwhelmed with curiosity, they head off toward her apartment. She's giddy and bouncy the whole way. At the door.

Deth: "Now remember, you're _not_ going to rip my dress. Promise?"

She knows all too well that being in close proximity to a bed is going to make it very difficult to delay gratification any further. She is actually light headed from desire at this point—all the blood rushing to her parts over the past four hours or so. And she can tell by the way he has been shifting all night that he's been fighting a boner since they left the party.

Spike: "Don't know what you're on about—I'm just giving you your bloody birthday present is all."

He explains that he'd had someone deliver it once she left earlier for the party. He makes her close her eyes and leads her inside. Once she is positioned appropriately, he tells her to open them. In front of her is an aquarium—mid-sized, fully fitted with accessories. Inside there are no fish, but instead a few bits of coral, an anemone and laying right there in the middle of the tank, a starfish. She is completely speechless.

Spike: "I was going to get you a tub—much more potential for mutual enjoyment—but your bathroom's too small and there'd be plumbing involved and such. Seemed too much a bother."

Deth: "How…where…?"

Spike: "Was a bit of a trick—had to break into three different pet shops to find all the right bits and bobs. Filled aquariums _not_ the easiest things to steal, so I had to be creative. I nicked a book on what you're supposed to do to keep it up, too. Bloody expensive these things are, you know, if you were to actually pay for it all."

All she can think is that this is the best present she's ever gotten. Ever. From anyone. Darryl always got her jewelry or lingerie and flowers for her birthday—nice, but very generic.

She just stands there, blinking, not knowing what to say or do. She pulls her gaze away from the aquarium and looks over at Spike. She stares at him a moment, an odd smile on her lips. Yeah, there'll be no more waiting. Her cheeks flush at the look he's giving her now; he must know what she's thinking. They lunge at each other, smashing their mouths together.

Spike: (breaking free for a second) "You get that I'm going to rip your dress, right?"

Deth: (breathless) "But there's a zipper."

Spike: "Opens at the wrong end."

And with that, he practically tosses her on the carpeted floor, flips her onto her knees and rips the dress straight up from the slit in the back, exposing her naked ass.

So many hours of waiting. Though he'd had the quick release at the party, he'd spent the next three hours smelling her sweet scent, seeing the desire lurking behind her eyes, lusting at her newly decorated body. Being so close to her in such a state and not having her was the most intense exercise in self-control he can remember.

(RAMPANT shagging ensues to mutual satisfaction...ahem.)

They lay there a moment, letting out an occasional laugh, smiles now creeping across their satisfied faces.

Deth: "Thanks for the tank."

Spike: "You're quite welcome."

Deth: (Looking down at their still fully clothed bodies) "Maybe we should make this a game."

Spike: "A game?"

Deth: "I don't know. But the goal has to be to make it to the bed."

Spike: (laughing) "Strip fucking. We each take off an item of clothing for every orgasm."

Deth: "…as we make our way toward the bed. So by the time we get there…"

Spike: "We'll be naked."

Deth: "It's always about the nudity rule for you, isn't it?"

Spike rolls onto his side and kisses her, softly, leisurely. But soon they're back at it…

Hours later. On the bed.

Deth: "We made it."

Spike: "And…(grabbing hold of Deth's swaying breasts)….we're naked. Does that mean I win?"

Deth: "Not sure. Don't think we got that far when we were making up the rules."

Spike: "Were there any rules at all?"

Deth: (considering) "No. But now that we're here…"

She starts kissing down his chest.

Spike: "…it's time for sleeping. Sorry, pet, but I'm done. There it is—you win."

Deth: "No sleeping."

She continues her downward progression.

Spike: "Don't know what's got into you tonight—you're bloody insatiable."

Deth: (Diving under the sheet) "mmmmmm"

Spike: (shaking his head) "Doesn't matter how much you suck on it, pet, it's still down for the night."

She persists...

Spike: (in response, laughing sleepily) "That tickles—stop it."

She emerges from the sheet, pouting.

Deth: "But it's not light yet—'still my birthday."

Spike: (his eyes fluttering closed) "A bit too much champagne and too little blood, I'm afraid. Just need a bit of a rest, is all."

Deth gets an odd look on her face. She slips out of bed and goes into the kitchen. She pours herself a drink of water. She grabs an apple from a basket and a paring knife from a drawer. She steps back into the main room, cutting off a slice of apple and then eating it. She picks up a bag from the couch and moves back toward the bed. She sets it on the bedside table and then crawls back into bed, straddling Spike's sheet covered hips. His eyes flutter open and he sleepily puts his hand on her thigh. She offers him a slice of apple, which he declines. She takes one more slice from it and then places the core on the bedside table next to the bag. Next she pulls out a roll of gauze and some first-aid tape from the bag and sets them both on the table. Spike is half watching her, half sleeping. When he sees the gauze and the tape, he frowns.

Spike: "What that for?"

Deth: (matter-of-factly) "For my cut."

Spike: (confused) "What cu…"

But before he can finish, Deth takes the knife and plunges the tip into the vein of her left arm, puncturing it just where it reaches the surface at the crux of her elbow. She winces slightly. As she removes the knife, a small stream of blood shoots up and she quickly leans forward to thrust it towards Spike's mouth; eyes wide with surprise, he instinctually fits his mouth firmly over the wound, unable to resist the stream of fresh blood. Dizzy at the taste of it, his features change quickly, his yellow eyes half close with pleasure. She's leaning to the side, propping herself up on her other arm near his head, her wounded arm wrapped around his face snugly. He fights the instinct to open the gash further with his now readied teeth or to drink deeper than a mild suck; he focuses on letting it trickle in slowly. She holds her arm there until she feels herself start to weaken a bit—a familiar feeling from when she'd donated blood; she figures she can lose a pint or so without a problem. She reaches for the gauze with her other arm and then starts to gently pull her arm away. Spike grabs it, greedily, pulling it back to his mouth. He lifts his lips away enough to murmur:

Spike: "Just a bit more."

She tenses a bit at the firmness of his grip; her heart beginning to race knowing that she is completely at his mercy. Oddly, she's not afraid, but excited by this freedom of helplessness. She feels a sleepy calm taking hold and she melts into it. Feeling her relax, Spike instantly releases her arm, pressing his fingers into the wound to quickly slow the bleeding. Now very alert, he takes the gauze from her loose hand and quickly wraps it around, sealing it with tape once it's reached the necessary thickness. She rolls over onto her back, keeping her arm bent as he left it, staring at his vampire features with longing eyes. He returns her gaze from above, still amazed by her brazen act. Amazed _and_ aroused, the taste of her better than he'd remembered. He'd nipped at her since then—grazed the skin for a drop here and there. But this was so much more intense, so much more fulfilling—the hot stream of blood trickling down his throat sent chills of ecstasy to his dead body.

He'd give her what she was after.

Spike: (deepest, darkest voice) "Naughty, naughty girl."

(AN: This is where I can't bring myself to edit.)

Her blood calmed by the physical connection, she lifts herself up to kiss him. She lovingly touches the ridges of his face as he rhythmically pumps in and out of her. It hurts—almost enough to take her breath away. She's intensely sore, but still somehow desperate for him. He breaks the kiss to lift himself up a bit, his head still dizzy from the thick smell of her spilt blood in the air. His thrusts are instinctive, animalistic—his goal only to fill her up again. He drops back down so that his face is just above hers, but he doesn't reach for her lips. She doesn't take her eyes off his face; she wants to see him come. His thrusts become deeper and his mouth drops slightly open to allow the passage of unnecessary puffs of air. Soon he lets out a rather muted grunt and ups the pace for a few quick, shallow thrusts. She had no expectation of another orgasm—she had so many. She'd lost count somewhere between her left shoe and her right earring; her body was worn out. But when she sees, feels him come again, she is overwhelmed by the sudden contractions of her inner walls around his emptying organ—an orgasm building from within, as if responding to the flow of his juices. In a mad burst of energy, she flips them both over so she can grind against him to release the bursts of ecstasy to the rest of her exhausted body. She closes her eyes, scrunches up her face and whimpers as the tingles travel outward from her center, reaching down her legs and up her pelvis. She opens them to find Spike's still yellow eyes drinking in her pained, explosive expression. Breathing heavily, overcome, she's startled to hear herself gasp as she looks into his eyes:

Deth: "I love you. Spike, I…love you."

His face instantly morphs back to human form. He brushes the hair back from her face while his expression changes quickly from pleased surprise to an apologetic frown.

Spike: (desperate to say something, but knowing he can't respond in kind) "Deth, I…"

The words pierce her and she instantly feels his turmoil, his pain and disappointment—it flows outward like a tidal wave.

Deth: (collapsing onto his chest, burying her face in his shoulder) "It's Ok. I don't care. I don't. I…I just want things to stay the same."

He strokes her hair gently. For the first time in her adult life, she feels tears burn in her eyes. Soon she finds herself gently sobbing; the physicality of it is so foreign to her that she has no idea how to make it stop and the tears flow and flow.

Spike: (wrapping his arms around her, he whispers) "I'm sorry."

Deth: "But these are your tears, not mine."

In the moments before he drifts off to sleep, he wonders if this could be true. If his sadness could flow through her like that and if so, how bitterly unfair that was. He'd wanted to feel different—feel more. But to hear those words—words he'd been desperate for, for so long; said by someone who clearly meant them, the truth completely transparent in that beautifully vulnerable moment—and to feel only numbness, emptiness in himself. It was unbearable. It's not that he felt nothing, but that it was so much _less_. Cavernously less.

Sometime just after dawn, Deth wakes up. She unwraps herself from Spike's arms and staggers to the bathroom. She takes a sip from the tap and splashes some water on her face. Feeling the burn in her eyes, she stops to scan her face in the mirror. Gently touching the foreign puffiness, the memory of her outburst sinks like a stone to the pit of her stomach. Why did she have to say it? She feels foolish for blurting it out, knowing full well it was too soon for him—knowing he couldn't answer in kind. (Too bad knowing doesn't temper hope) She hadn't considered that it might cause him pain. Now it seems so clear.

She meant it when she said she didn't care. She was patient—she would wait. She scolds herself for letting her mind settle on such melodrama, but at this moment, she is sure she would wait forever. Her feelings for him had begun to swallow her. She had fought it, instinctively, until last night. Everything was too perfect. She had never felt desire like that—so frantic and desperate, her body driven to absorb him.

She shakes her head to brush off her thoughts. It will be okay. On her way back to the bed, she notices something on the floor on the other side of the room. She walks over to investigate. It's an envelope, obviously pushed under the door. She carries it to the bed, opens it and frowns at the familiar etchings of the text. After scanning it, she folds it and tosses it on the couch. She pulls herself under the sheet, re-wraps herself in Spike's arms and drifts back to sleep for a few hours.

The next morning, she is up making tea and coffee when Spike first opens his eyes. She is already dressed and upon seeing he is awake, brings over a mug of tea. After handing it to him, she sits down on the edge of the bed. He takes a heavy sip, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes.

Deth: "I had a wonderful birthday. It was perfect."

Spike: (sheepish/guilty) "_Almost_ perfect."

Deth: (ignoring his comment) "Thanks."

Spike: (serious) "About what you said…"

Deth: (uncomfortable, not wanting to talk about it) "Can we forget about that?"

Spike: (tentatively touching her arm) "No, I…(pause while he thinks of how to phrase it; he understands too well what it's like to have thrown something like that out there, only to have it fall flat. Or worse.) It means something to me. (beat) It's important." (not quite the right word, but it's the best he can do for now.)

She glances over at him and nods.

Deth: "I have to go out of town for a few days, maybe a week. I need to leave today."

Spike: "What? Where are you going?"

Deth: "Chicago."

Spike: "Why?"

Deth: "family business."

Spike: (skeptical) "When did you decide this?"

Deth: "Last night. I got a message when you were asleep."

Spike: (suspicious) "Don't run away on me now."

Deth: "Oh. I'm not. I just have to take care of some things."

Spike: "What things _exactly_?"

She takes a deep breath. She wants to tell him, but wonders if she should.

Deth: (relenting) "Do you promise not to tell anyone at work?"

For some reason, her instincts tell her to keep W&H out of it.

Spike: "Sure."

Deth: "There was a note under the door."

She leans over and picks up the piece of paper and shows it to him.

Spike: (Eyeing the markings through squinted eyes.) Uh—you'll have to translate."

Deth: "It's from the Pastuyk. My mother died. They need me to participate in some ritual. (explaining) I'm the eldest daughter."

Spike: (concerned) "I'm right that this is the first time you've heard from these folks since you were eight."

She nods.

Deth: "It's a burial ritual. I have to kill a pig."

Spike: "Sounds like a barrel of laughs"

Deth: "I should go. They want me there. (pause) I _want_ to see them."

Spike nods his understanding.

Spike: "Do you want me to go with you? S'been a while since I've sacrificed a pig, but I hear it's like riding a bike."

Deth: "Nah. I'll be fine. They're a bit secretive."

Spike: "Guess I'll be taking care of the fish while you're gone."

Deth: "Thanks."

Later that morning, Deth heads to Chicago. Spike is a bit concerned for her—she was obviously nervous and a bit conflicted about the trip. She had confessed her trepidation about the whole pig-killing aspect. Still, she was committed to going; felt it was her obligation—perhaps a way of paying them back in some small way for raising her. And she's curious. She agrees to check in every night she is away, though she's not much of a phone person. She calls the night of the ritual to tell him that things went surprisingly smoothly—she got to see her "father" and "sister" and some others she remembered. The pig slaughtering wasn't quite as awful as she had feared, though she still can't get the sound of the squealing out of her head. He hangs up feeling relieved.

About eight hours later, his phone rings again. It's Deth. She's upset, her voice frozen in her throat. Her breathing betrays the state of her hysteria, as only a word or two escapes her lips. He can hear her heart pounding, blood rushing too quickly through the veins. Spike tries to calm her down enough to form the minimum number of words he needs to figure out what's upsetting her. It's so hard not being able to see her. He tells her to have a drink of something—something strong.

Deth: (choking out the words) "Afraid. Can't go out."

Spike: (for the tenth time) "Relax, love. Tell me what happened."

Deth: (breathing deeply just like he told her) "I…I think I might have done something awful. I had a dream. He was on the television."

Spike: "Who was on the television?"

Deth: "A boy. The boy from my dream. In the news."

Spike: "And why was he on the news?"

Deth: "He's so young. So small. (losing her brief calm) How could I have not known? How could I not see?"

Spike: "Try to relax. Breathe. Why was the boy on the news?"

Deth: "Missing. Gone. Taken from a playground."

Spike: "Okay. So maybe you saw him on the news before you went to sleep and that's why you had a dream about him."

Deth: "No no no no. My fault. The dream…wasn't. (pause) I think…I think I killed him."

Tbc…

**Author's Note: OK, folks, we're halfway through. Things get more plot driven in the next five chapters, in case you were wondering, though I never forget my characters :) PLEASE drop me a line if you're reading this. Silence is deafening. I just noticed that the 'anonymous' filter was turned on in my account--I turned it off, so if you tried to leave a review before, feel free to give it another go. Go ahead. Make my day. No, seriously...**


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

Scene 1

(first bit from end of Part 5)

_Later that morning, Deth heads to Chicago. Spike is a bit concerned for her—she was obviously nervous and a bit conflicted about the trip. She had confessed her trepidation about the whole pig-killing aspect. Still, she was committed to going; felt it was her obligation—perhaps a way of paying them back in some small way for raising her. And she's curious. She agrees to check in every night she is away, though she's not much of a phone person. She calls the night of the ritual to tell him that things went surprisingly smoothly—she got to see her "father" and "sister" and some others she remembered. The pig slaughtering wasn't quite as awful as she had feared, though she still can't get the sound of the squealing out of her head. He hangs up feeling relieved. _

_About eight hours later, his phone rings again. It's Deth. She's upset, her voice frozen in her throat. Her breathing betrays the state of her hysteria, as only a word or two escapes her lips. He can hear her heart pounding, blood rushing too quickly through the veins. Spike tries to calm her down enough to form the minimum number of words he needs to figure out what's upsetting her. It's so hard not being able to see her. He tells her to have a drink of something—something strong._

_Deth: (choking out the words) "Afraid. Can't go out."_

_Spike: (for the tenth time) "Relax, love. Tell me what happened."_

_Deth: (breathing deeply just like he told her) "I…I think I might have done something awful. I had a dream. He was on the television."_

_Spike: "Who was on the television?"_

_Deth: "A boy. The boy from my dream. In the news."_

_Spike: "And why was he on the news?"_

_Deth: "He's so young. So small. (losing her brief calm) How could I have not known? How could I not see?"_

_Spike: "Try to relax. Breathe. Why was the boy on the news?"_

_Deth: "Missing. Gone. Taken from a playground."_

_Spike: "Okay. So maybe you saw him on the news before you went to sleep and that's why you had a dream about him."_

_Deth: "No no no no. My fault. The dream…wasn't. (pause) I think…I think I killed him."_

Having said the words, she inhales sharply as if to gasp one last breath of air before her throat re-tightens. A calmness follows as the horror of it descends, smothering her. Her eyes find a stain on the wall across the room and she lets her gaze fix there. She loosens her grip on the phone and lets it drop slightly away from her ear.

Spike: (Wishing he could see her—see what she was thinking) "That's not right. You know it isn't. You don't kill people." (He adds to himself—that's what _I_ do. Did. Whatever. Getting no response, he says softly) "Deth?"

He perceives the change in her. Her breath is now shallow and steady. There is something familiar here. He's afraid she might retreat like he did.

Spike: "Do you want me to come up there? (not waiting for her answer) Yeah, you just sit tight, luv. I'll come to Chicago and we'll figure this all out. Could use a bit of a break from all the bloody sunshine anyway. (pause) Can you tell me where you are? Maybe you said before, but…"

He feels a bit guilty for not paying attention when she'd given him the details during a previous conversation. After a moment, he hears some movement on her end of the line—perhaps her bringing the phone closer to her ear again.

Deth: (in the tiniest of voices) "How?"

Spike: "No worries, pet. Be there in a flash. Just read me the number on the phone—I'll get the rest."

He waits while she processes this. Her eyes follow the phone cord to the base—she squints her eyes to see the number printed just above the buttons. She swallows and then recites the sequence to Spike.

Spike: "Just sit tight. (pause; He's worried and wants to say more; he shakes his head in annoyance at himself—why can't he just bloody say it? They're only words.) Take care of yourself."

He hangs up, grabs his duster, puts a pack of cigarettes in his pocket and leaves.

A little while later, Spike arrives at Wolfram and Hart. He heads straight for Angel's office. It is pretty quiet—middle of the night and all. He pounds on the door, but then discovers it's open. He finds Angel half asleep on the couch, holding a file in his hand. Angel sits up, groggily and seeing that it's Spike, instantly frowns.

Angel: "What the hell do you want?"

Spike: "Frankly, I'm surprised to find the place in such good shape—when we left the other night, it looked like the party was about to evolve into a serious riot. Was almost sorry to miss all the fun."

Angel: "Yeah, well, things were headed that way, but we managed to keep it under control."

Truth is, soon after Spike left, all the guests seemed to just mellow out on their own without any intervention whatsoever. At the time, Angel was so relieved to have escaped such a potentially disastrous situation, he never thought to question _why_ things went from escalating violent chaos to polite socializing over the course of a half hour or so. Come to think of it, maybe it was Spike's fault (this was his favorite explanation for everything).

Spike: "Well, bully for you then. Go team."

Angel: (rubbing the sleep out of his eyes; he's finally awake enough to properly tell Spike off) "By the way, don't you EVER use my office for your little sexcapades EVER again. I'm beginning to think Harmony's little memo wasn't such a bad idea."

Spike: (smirking) "You're just jealous."

Angel: (without thinking) "Get over yourself."

Spike: (devilish grin) "I meant jealous that my girlfriend's such a goer, but if you want to make this about me…"

Angel: (looking embarrassed for a second, then covering by rolling his eyes.) "Why are you here?"

Now, normally, he'd like to take an opportunity like this to continue to tease his temporarily off-balance grand-sire, but considering the situation, he decides to stick to the point.

Spike: "I need the jet."

Angel: "The jet. As in the one we took to Europe."

Spike: "That's the one."

Angel: "Is that all?"

Spike: "And probably a pilot too, while you're at it."

Angel: "Why?"

Spike: "I'd rather not say. It's personal."

Angel: "Personal. You're not…"

Spike: "Keep your knickers on; I'm not going to Rome. Just 'round the corner to Chicago."

Angel: "Maybe you should take a bus."

Spike: "In a bit of a hurry, mate. Could you just take those pudgy sausage fingers of yours and dial up whoever needs to be dialed to get me the jet?"

Angel: "Do you honestly think I'm just going to give you the Wolfram and Hart private jet, with no explanation whatsoever about what you plan to do with it?"

Spike: "Not asking you to give it me, just let me borrow it for a few days. Heck, you can just have them drop me off—I'll make my own way back."

Angel: "Why Chicago?"

Spike: "I have to do a bit of _investigating_ is all."

Angel: "Investigating. (beat) Get out."

Spike: "What? I can't ask for a favor now and again?"

Angel: "You ask for favors _all the time_."

Spike: (a bit more serious) "Come on. I need it. I'll explain later. (a shrug and a mumbled) Maybe."

Angel: "I'm not giving you the jet until you tell me why you need it."

Spike: "I told you. It's personal."

Angel: "I hear Greyhound has cut down it's routes, but maybe there's a cargo train you can hitch a ride on."

Spike: (deep breath) "_Someone_ may be in trouble—a girl. It _might_ involve a ritual and maybe a human sacrifice. Now will you just get me the bloody jet?"

Angel: (confused) "I thought you said it was personal."

Spike: "It is. (dead serious) It's something _I_ need to take care of."

Angel: "Does it involve someone we know?"

Spike: (eyes narrowed) "Maybe."

Something about Spike's tone makes Angel immediately think of Drusilla. Spike notices Angel's expression change slightly and takes a guess as to what he is thinking.

Angel: "There's a hellmouth in Chicago. Draws in certain types. (beat) Is she up to something big?"

Spike: (Happy to play along in order to keep the trail off of Deth. He smiles as if to acknowledge Angel's "cleverness" at figuring it out.) "Not sure. Just investigating, remember?"

Angel: "You sure you want to do this alone? I could send a team up."

Spike: "I'd rather be on my own."

Angel: (real sympathy/empathy in his voice) "Yeah."

Angel picks up the phone and makes arrangements for the jet. Spike keeps up the act until he strolls out the door, when he smirks, pleased with himself. He shoulda been a bloody actor.

End scene.

Scene 2: Chicago, a motel on the outskirts of the city.

Spike gets out of a taxi, hands the driver some bills and then pulls a folded up piece of paper from his pocket. He strolls up to the appropriate door and knocks. For some reason, he knows not to expect an answer.

Spike: "Hey, it's me. I'm just going to jimmy the door now—might have to break it a bit if I can't get the lock."

He is able to get the lock, but then has to break the chain holding the door. He steps in. Deth is sitting on the floor by the phone. She's on the side of the bed away from the window and ducked down enough so that she couldn't be seen if someone were to look in. She's hugging her knees, her head resting against the wall. When Spike turns the corner from the door, she looks up at him with tired eyes. He kneels down next to her and touches her face with is hand. He guesses she hasn't moved from this spot since she hung up the phone.

Spike: "You needn't have taken me so literally when I said 'sit tight'."

She unwraps one of her arms to touch his, but doesn't say anything. He can see the relief on her face. Still, she looks awful. Sunken eyes, pale.

Spike: "Aw luv, you look like dea…(stops himself with a small smile)…you look like hell. _'told_ you to take care of yourself."

There _is_ something different about her; he can't quite put his finger on. He tries to dismiss it, afraid of what it might mean. Likely just his imagination, anyway. There's always been a lot of talk out there about vampires being able to sense the difference between innocents and the rest—mostly fueled by the Anne Rice bullshit that'd become so popular. Truth is, he'd heard of those who could tell—who'd taken the time to learn it; Mostly something the old ones were interested in. Not something he'd ever bothered with—never mattered to him either way—a kill was a kill. Dru cared about stuff like that—she always claimed the innocents tasted better; she seemed to know. He'd just smile and nod and follow along, like with the rest of her crazy gibberish spouting. But he wondered.

Spike: (shaking his head) "You're dehydrated. (another twinge of guilt about how much blood he'd taken from her the other night) I'm going to go and get some supplies before the sun comes up. When I get back, we'll get you in the shower and put you to bed for a bit. No arguments."

At first she grips his arm tighter in response, obviously not wanting him to leave her alone again. But after he gently pries her hand loose, she goes back to hugging her knees and lets her head rest against them, staring back off into space as she was doing when he'd arrived. He returns after about 20 minutes. He hands her a very large bottle of Gatorade.

Spike: "Drink this. _All_ of it."

She unscrews the cap and takes a deep sip. She stops drinking abruptly and makes a disgusted face as she looks up at Spike questioningly.

Spike: "Yeah, it's whiskey—not exactly an idea mix with Cool Blue Gatorade, but it's all I had. Drink it—you need to relax, you're stiff as a board."

She frowns, but does as she's told. It had been well over 24 hours since she'd eaten and so the alcohol has an instant effect. She lets her knees collapse and leans her whole body against the wall. Spike picks her up and takes her to the shower. As he starts to help her with her clothes, he frowns slightly.

Spike: "You've showered since the ritual, yeah?"

He hadn't wanted to bring it up—didn't want to upset her while she was still in this fragile state—but if they were going to figure out what happened that night, he couldn't risk washing away anything. _He_ could tell the difference between human and pig's blood. She nods.

Spike: "And the clothes?"

Deth: "Robes. Nothing underneath. They kept them."

Spike: "Right then. Guess we should get you cleaned up and into bed."

He would have preferred to let her sit in a warm bath for a bit, but there was only a shower stall. So he guides her tired, passive body out of her clothes, adjusting the temperature of the water before leading her under the stream. She turns to look at him. She says nothing, but her weariness beckons. He quickly pulls off his clothes and steps through the glass door into the steamy stall. She washes herself slowly and meticulously as if in a trance, only leaning on him now and again for balance or support. She's not helpless, only reluctant. Yet she couldn't bear to have him separated from her by even a flimsy glass door. Finished in the shower, they dry themselves and climb into bed, under the impossibly soft over-washed sheets without saying another word. He feels her shiver, her body lacking the energy necessary to heat itself properly and his cool body inevitably drawing warmth from her naked skin. He slips out of bed and digs through her travel bag, thrown callously on the floor by the television, pulling out the pajamas he'd once ridiculed. She takes them and dresses herself. Climbing back under the covers, he tries to wrap her like a mummy with the blanket, leaving a barrier between them, but she'll have none of it and instead clings tightly to his chest. He reaches over and turns out the light, making the room a dull gray—it's just past sunrise and some light sneaks around the edges of the heavy curtains, preventing complete darkness. Spike's not particularly tired—he can't keep his mind from planning out the upcoming evening. He listens to her breathing, hoping the whiskey will wipe her mind enough to let her sleep in peace. But soon after the light is off, he feels her body tense and then release into tiny shivers—her breath is unsteady. He can't help but frown, knowingly.

Spike: "You still hear it?"

Deth: "It's crying, not squealing. _He's_ crying."

Spike: "You're mind is playing tricks on you. I'll put some music on."

He leans over to the beside table and turns on the clock-radio, tuning it to the first station that approximates rock, cranking the volume up as far as the speakers will handle without buzzing.

Deth: (trying to stop him) "No, I should hear it. It's right that I should be hearing it."

He closes his eyes, recognizing the guilt in her voice. It wasn't so long ago that he'd heard the same—the crying, the screams, the pleading of his victims. And for a while he didn't fight it either, his soul accepting it as well deserved punishment.

Spike: (desperate to keep this pain from her) "We don't know anything yet. Just…just let it be drowned out. Listen to the music. Fight it. (beat) We don't _know_."

She gasps for air, maybe trying to calm herself; but now her body has turned rigid again with the spoken acknowledgement of what it _is _that they don't know. He can practically hear her mind racing. Dammit. Spike frowns deeply as his mind grapples with how to fix this. After a moment of jaw clenching frustration, he turns to her and lifting her face roughly, kisses her hard on the lips. She doesn't respond, her mind self-consuming again. But he continues to mash his lips against hers, prying her mouth open with his tongue. She makes a sort of disapproving whimper and starts to pull away from him. He plants his hand firmly behind her head, preventing her retreat, plunging his tongue in deeper, enveloping her mouth with his own, nipping almost callously at her lips. Her passivity is slowly replaced by active resistance—she's frowning and trying to push him away. This just seems so wrong to her—she's never been less in the mood. Desperate for air, she bites down hard on one of his lips—this causes him to pull back briefly.

Deth: (weakly) "Spike, stop it."

Spike: (licking the blood from the bite on his lip) "Sorry, love, not the best deterrent, that."

He dives in quickly for another forced kiss, not allowing her to respond. Her eyes widen—he has never not listened to her before. He rolls over on top of her and starts tugging at the pajama bottoms he'd just a few minutes before insisted she put on. She continues to squirm against him, not really knowing why, trying to pry his hand away from her clothes.

Deth: (more forceful now) "No. I don't want…"

But Spike quickly puts his hand over her mouth as he pulls her hand away from the fabric of her underwear.

Spike: "Shhhhhh."

Her heart is beating hard and fast, pushing blood to her cold extremities; her attention fixed on his every move. She tries to bite his hand, but he whips it away and attacks her mouth again with his. She is too surprised to think clearly—it's as if she's just awakening from a dream. Instinctively, feeling him yank her panties down, she clenches her thighs together as tightly as she can. She's fighting him with more strength now, more defiance. Of course, he can easily overpower her. Instead, he lets her fight him—let's her struggle.

He thinks: That's it, love. Come on.

He continues his onslaught—immobilizing her hands first and then prying apart her thighs. She thrashes underneath him and it's almost too much. Painful, disgusting memories flood into his mind at the sound of her pathetic whimpers and yet he keeps the struggle alive until he's sure. He releases her mouth briefly.

Deth: (fearful, confused) "What are you doing?"

Her knees now forcibly parted, she can feel his hardness pressed at her opening, ready to dive in.

Spike: (menacing) "What does it feel like? I'm gonna fuck you—hard and dry enough to make you scr…(seeing her eyes widen, exposing the rim of white, his expression, voice and grip softens—he knows he can't go through with it; the fear in her face is too much. Unless she understands—unless he can get her to understand. He symbolically retightens his grip on her wrists, pushing them into the bed. Staring deep into her eyes, he says in a forceful, yet pleading voice) _Let_ me make you scream."

She stares back at him, a mixture of fear and defiance. But she hears something in these last words—her distracted isolation temporarily broken. He doesn't want to hurt her—he's in pain at the thought of it—he's battling within. She gets it. She lets her eyelids relax slightly and gives an almost imperceptible nod.

(AN: Edited for strong sexual content. Summary: Deth understands that Spike's motivation is to occupy her mind and body in an attempt to keep her from withdrawing into herself--to prevent her from letting the guilt swallow her. She consents to the ruse and things get a bit rough, but it works...)

Her body has gone completely limp and her mind hears only the music still blaring from the radio. Before she drifts off to sleep, she whispers dreamily:

Deth: "Thanks"

Spike smiles and pulls her close to him. Yet as her eyes close and her breathing becomes shallow and regular, Spike's eyes stay stubbornly open.

Scene 3

The same motel room, just after sunset. Spike is up, standing by the window having a cigarette. Deth starts to squirm under the sheets, slowly waking up.

Deth: (sleep voice) "Starfish."

Spike: (shaking his head) "Got your neighbor to drop in and check the tank—it'll be fine."

Deth: (now pointing to the radio, though her head is still resting on the pillow and her eyes half closed) "Starfish."

He's just now realized that the radio is still on—he'd tuned it out hours ago. Sure enough, the song playing on the radio is "Starfish and coffee" by Prince.

Spike: "Haven't you heard that one before? Figured it'd be in your top ten."

Deth: "Don't listen to the radio much."

She blinks her eyes, sits up and turns on the light by the bed. Spying him by the window, she says:

Deth: "It's a non-smoking room."

He just gives her a look, like that's the LEAST of our worries. It takes a moment for her memory to come back. When it hits her, she rubs her eyes and says.

Deth: "I'll take one."

Spike smiles, walks over to the bed and gives her the lit cigarette from his mouth before lighting himself another one. She takes a drag like a decently seasoned smoker.

Spike: "Thought you didn't partake of such life-shortening activities."

Now it's her turn to give him a look. She'd tried it in college for a bit—curious to understand the fuss. Never did much for her other than a mild buzz and it never occurred to her to smoke regularly. But tonight, perhaps, is one of those rare occasions when smoking seems the only natural thing to do. She calmly finishes her fag in silence.

Deth: "I'm just going to have a rinse off and then we should go."

She gets up off the bed. Spike is pleased that she's regained some control—she appears more like the Deth he's used to; calm, composed, guided. But just as she's fully upright, she pulls her hand to her mouth, giving him a look of quick panic before running to the toilet and hurling. Poor girls' only had a gallon of Gatorade mixed with whiskey and a fag in the past 30 hours or so—s'no wonder her body protests. She emerges after her shower looking a bit green, but still alert. They get dressed, stop at a diner for a quick bite and then head to the location of the ritual, all without saying more than a couple of words.

They arrive at the site (an underground set of stone caverns) to find it has been deserted—no real surprise there, as the Pastuyk are somewhat nomadic and intentionally secretive in their ways. Deth leads Spike down the corridors and steps to the main hall where the sacrifice took place. She is still calm and purposeful. Until they reach the room with the altar. She stops abruptly in the doorway. For some reason, she had expected it to be gone—expected it to be cleared away like everything else from that night. But there it was. The ceremonial blanket had been removed and the candles and inscriptions were wiped away. The blanket had caught most of the spilled blood, the rest having been collected in a sacred carved bowl. But the stone rectangle where the pig had been secured was still there, atop a thick pedicle. And there is still a stain on the stone—she can see it, even from across the room. She turns to Spike with nervous, questioning eyes; obviously afraid knowing she'll have the answer soon enough; maybe he already knows; maybe he can smell it from here. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She turns back towards the altar and then releases her grip on Spike's hand. He strides into the room, heading toward the altar stone. Though in truth, he does already know the answer. But he heads in that direction purposefully, having heard movement near the entrance on the other side of the room and hoping to sneak up on whoever might be lurking there. Sure enough, a demon in a tattered purple robe appears in the doorway behind the altar, carrying a bucket filled with water and a scrub brush. It was obviously his chore to clean the stone. When he sees Spike, he drops the bucket and turns to run in a panic out through the back doorway. Spike is on him in a second and drags the whimpering demon back into the room, thrusting him harshly against one of the stone walls.

Pastuyk Demon (PD): (obviously scared, he speaks in a quick and shaky voice) "What do you want with me, vampire? Pastuyk blood is unpalatable to your kind—I've heard it compared to caster oil. Sure to make you sick."

Spike: "It's not _Pastuyk_ blood I'm after."

PD: "Yes, of course, you've smelled the sacrifice. (chastizing himself) I should've cleaned the stone yesterday—such a fool I am—If only that stupid Munsters marathon on Nickelodean hadn't caught my eye. (back to Spike) Surely you can tell the blood is stale—the boy is long gone, his body exhumed. There is nothing left for you here now."

Spike slams him hard against the wall. Deth had been creeping forward, towards them. By now, she is only a few steps from the stone. Spike turns his head, hearing a small whimper from that direction following the demon's words. The demon turns toward his gaze, seeing Deth for the first time. She is standing there looking pale, desperately trying to hold it together as the truth is revealed.

PD: "Oh dear. Oh no. (trying to calm himself) S'no matter. What's done is done."

She continues her walk toward the stone. Spike turns back to the PD.

Spike: "How did you do it? How?"

PD: "No, I can't possibly…"

Spike roughs him up some more.

PD: "A spell. Just a spell. A temporary illusion."

Spike: (seething anger) "Why?"

PD: "It was known she would not willingly kill one of her own kind—certainly not an innocent as was required. A pig seemed an obvious substitution—choose carefully and the size is similar, the skin similar, the sounds."

Spike: "Why on earth was the sacrifice of an innocent necessary for a bloody funeral ritual?"

The demon shrugs.

PD: "It is our way."

Spike: "That's bullshit" (He can tell the demon is lying. He punches him hard across the face.) You're going to be straight with me, or I'll tear you pieces—starting with the smallest, most sensitive bits."

PD: "What's done is done. It's in the hands of other powers now—no sense fighting it. (beat) It's beautif…"

But before he can finish, a dagger flies across the room, hitting the demon square in the head, killing him instantly.

Spike: (annoyed) "Bloody hell."

He drops the dead demon and rushes in the direction opposite the daggers trajectory. Unfortunately, he can't find anyone or anything and returns to the ritual room after a few minutes of searching. He doesn't want to leave Deth alone for long. When he returns, he finds her sitting on top of the altar, hugging her knees.

Deth: "I can see it now. As it was. He was crying—so afraid—as I approached. But then he saw me—saw that I was human, that I was a woman and his sobs turned to whimpers and then stopped. Don't know how old—they said on the news. Maybe 3 or 4? Must've thought I was there to save him from the monsters. Maybe I looked like his mom. But instead, I closed my eyes and did as I was shown. (pause, then looking desperately at Spike) How could I have not seen? Not known? (her breathing is starting to shake again) Did I know?" (her eyes widen at the thought)

Spike steps over and gently lifts her off the stone and carries her towards the door.

Spike: "No. It was a spell. They tricked you. It's not your fault."

Deth: "Does that matter?"

He doesn't respond. He doesn't know the answer. Back when he was under the First's control and killed all those people, he'd outwardly convinced himself that it wasn't his fault; that it wouldn't add to his debt. But he hadn't really believed it—surely those souls belonged to him just as the thousands before them.

Once they've passed the threshold, he sets her down—it's better for her to walk out of there. But once on her feet, she quickly turns to the side and throws up. She takes a minute to steady herself and then they continue their walk towards the exit. Once outside, they walk in silence for a while, roughly in the direction of the motel.

Spike: "I'll walk you back to the motel, then I'll double back and see what I can find out. The buggers can't be far."

Deth stops walking abruptly.

Deth: (quiet, deflated) "No. (beat) I want to go home."

Spike: "I know. And we will. But we need to find out more about what happened."

Deth: "Doesn't matter."

Spike: "It might matter. Don't think it had anything to do with a burial ritual, that's for sure."

Deth: "Should we tell them?"

Spike: (confused) "What?"

Deth walks over to a telephone pole a couple of feet away from them and points at a poster stapled to it. It's a 'Missing' poster with a picture of the boy. She appears to be mesmerized by it and as Spike responds, she slowly/meticulously pulls it off, careful not to tear it.

Spike: (sigh) "You're not thinking of going to the police, are you?"

He is suddenly getting a feeling of deja-vu.

Deth: (frowning, looking up from the poster a moment) "Police? Why? (looking back at the poster, explaining) Tell them to stop looking."

Spike: (shrugging) "Dunno. Maybe it's better for them to have hope."

Deth: (repeating without emotion) "Hope."

She starts to fold up the piece of paper so it will fit in her pocket. Spike grabs it out of her hand and rips it up. Deth looks at him, pleadingly.

Deth: "But I should remember."

Spike: "You won't forget."

She nods. He takes her hand and leads her forward. She follows slowly, almost aimlessly.

He ends up giving in to her wish to head straight back to L.A., against his better judgment. She is just so wrecked and to be here, with the news and the posters will only make it worse. He figures once she has calmed down a bit, he will try to convince her to tell Wesley so they can make use of some of Wolfram and Hart's resources to figure out what's going on. At the moment, she is desperate in her desire that no one should know what happened. He'll wait a bit before pressing and he can probably do a bit of research on his own without arousing suspicion in the meantime.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

In the end, they rented a car and drove from Chicago to L.A. They could have bought a plane ticket for Spike to match Deth's return or called Angel to request the jet, but neither option sat well. She needed time. She needed to experience the space between the two cities. They drove only in the dark and slept in motels during the day—luckily, winter was quickly approaching, so they made good time. Deth was quiet, mostly. She liked to drive. They kept the radio on. Spike didn't attempt cheery conversation, except for the occasional diatribe against some band or other whose songs were being grossly overplayed. She liked his rants and would sometimes even smile a bit when he really got going. Neither of them mentioned the events that had transpired in Chicago, though it obviously weighed heavily on both their minds.

When they were about an hour outside of L.A., Deth inexplicably pulls off to the side of the road and puts the car into park. She takes a deep breath and then turns to Spike.

Deth: "What should I do?"

He thinks about it a minute.

Spike: "Nothing. I'll take care of it—anything that comes up, anyone who finds out. Leave it all to me."

He knows she will—knows she trusts him. He likes being able to take care of her—likes that she'll _let_ him.

She frowns as she acknowledges this with a slight nod. She turns back to the steering wheel, glances out at the road ahead, then back to Spike with slightly more urgency in her expression.

Deth: (her voice soft, strangled) "What should I _do_?"

Never letting his eyes leave her face, Spike's mind spins trying to come up with a satisfactory answer. He looks away for a moment—out through the windshield. What can he possibly say—hang out in a basement for a few months talking gibberish until you feel better? Spend a hundred years in a sewer, eating rats? It's not her fault, after all—she shouldn't have to pay like they did. He frowns, then looks back at her.

Spike: "Bury it. Lock it away, as deep as you can." Ok, so he's not a bloody therapist.

Deth lets out a breath at his words. She closes her eyes a moment before turning back towards the steering wheel and putting the car in gear and pulling back out into the road.

Back in L.A., things quickly fall back into a routine. Well, as much of a routine as is possible when you work for a formally evil law firm, preparing for the next apocalypse. Spike bluffed his way through Angel's interrogation, claiming it was all a false alarm but never expanding on what the alarm _was_ exactly. Angel didn't press. He was distracted by the fact that suddenly everything had gone quiet—there had been this big build-up, this expansive momentum toward what he assumed was the coming BIG BANG. But then everything fell silent. The usual, background crap was still around, but it had a random feel. Suddenly, they were back to the sort of business-as-usual, corporate, paper –pushing brand of fighting evil that he'd come to despise. Surely, it was the calm before the storm, but there was no way of knowing when or from where the winds would blow in again.

Spike kept a close eye on Deth. Things were different, surely, but she appeared to be coping better than he'd expected. There was certainly a new quietness, passiveness about her, but nothing so extreme to catch the attention of anyone else. She'd taken a few days when they'd first got back to hibernate in her little apartment with her new pets. After that, she'd gone back to work at Wolfram and Hart, studying texts with Wesley as usual and helping out in the field whenever the situation called for it. She quit her job at Harvey's—Spike wondered about that, but didn't call her on it. She always seemed tired and that was her excuse. They stayed on their shifted nocturnal schedule for the most part—Deth had worked it out with Wesley so they overlapped enough. What she hadn't mentioned to Spike was that she felt she was getting less and less from the texts—less even from the demons themselves. Truth is, she was distracted, unfocussed. Her mind was becoming closed to it. Wes had noticed this as well—she told him she'd been feeling unwell and he wasn't so very bothered, since things were quiet and life was puttering along without great urgency. Life _was_ puttering along. They did what they used to do for the most part—Deth even smiled and laughed occasionally. They made love every night they were together, which was quickly becoming every night. Not madly, not wildly; her former aggression tempered; her distraction bought with increased effort. Still, considering, it seemed almost normal.

They never spoke of Chicago. He would wait for her to be ready. He didn't want to break through the illusion she must have created for herself to cope. Not yet. Not until it became necessary.

But then things started to change. Or perhaps it was that they weren't changing enough. She started spending more and more time in bed—sleeping the days and nights away when she wasn't at work. Days would pass—she'd call in to work and never get out of those godawful pajamas. Her skin was almost as pale as his, having been shielded from the California sun for too long. She didn't seem to want to be around her own things anymore—she spent less and less time in her apartment. Eventually, Spike offered to move the aquarium to his place, as she was even neglecting that. "So tired", she'd say before turning over and pulling the duvet over her head. He didn't mind having her there all the time—seemed natural to him. But even he knew that these things did not bode well. The thing they never spoke of was festering. She had taken his advice and it was consuming her. Spike finds himself wishing she would just cry like a normal girl or like he did in the early days after the soul. But still, he keeps these things to himself hoping that everything will improve with time.

Scene: Spike's apartment, sometime after dawn.

Pan to Spike's bed (looking on from the foot), where he and Deth are in the slow, steady groove of their nightly shag. Under the sheets, you can make out the outline of Deth's legs wrapped around Spike's narrow hips. His naked torso is visible above the sheets. His arms are outstretched; his muscles tensed, supporting his upper body, lifted above her. The sounds of low grunts are heard with every thrust, steadily building in intensity. As he nears his release, Spike fights to keep his eyes open to watch her. Minutes before, she'd had a monster of an orgasm. Now she is still recovering—her white cheeks beautifully flushed, her eyes wide and clear and giving him that _look_. Moments like these were few and far between, as her focus was often inward or elsewhere. But right now, she had that flash—even that half smirk, half smile—that was herself. As he picks up the pace, he can feel that her blood isn't settling, but building again. Soon they're both lost in their approaching climax, moaning and grunting and grasping at each other...

After a few moments of satisfied panting and head shaking, Spike collapses onto her and in one quick motion, flips over onto his back, pulling her with him so she's lying on his chest.

She rests her head on his shoulder and says in the usual way…

Deth: "That was fun."

Spike: "Better than a slap in the face with a wet kipper, that's for sure."

This elicits a laugh from Deth and a faux angry nipple tweak.

Spike: (good heartedly) "Ouch—Hey, you're the one who started with the understatement, love."

They lay there a moment, feeling cozy and satisfied. A slightly wistful expression descends on Spike's face. He leisurely plays with her hair and then lifts her chin up and leans in to kiss her. He breaks the kiss and with his fingers still entangled in her blondish-red locks he stares into her eyes and whispers,

Spike: "Tell me."

She furrows her brow, ever so slightly, and lets her eyes fall to the side, breaking his gaze.

Deth: "No. (beat) I don't want to."

Spike: "Why?"

Deth: "It makes you sad."

He thinks about this a moment, conjuring up memories.

Spike: "Less every time."

She wonders about this—could it be true? She's not sure. Part of her resists, not wanting to endure the inevitable silence again. But then there's the other part that sparks at his neediness; that is happy to give in to it. She decides to be coy.

Deth: "Maybe tomorrow."

Spike: (her coyness lightening the mood) "Thought we'd covered this—I'm not a patient sort. (beat. His voice dropping—now low, hoarse, insistent) _Tell _me."

Deth: (unable to resist his tone, she looks back up at him) "I love you."

The sides of his mouth turn up slightly, pleased. He leans in for another kiss.

A phone rings. Deth frowns and gets up to answer—it's her cell phone.

Deth: "Hello? (pause) Now? But it's the middle of the da…(pause) Right. Sure. (pause) About an hour. Okay."

She hangs up.

Spike: "What's that about?

Deth: "Wes wants me to come in this afternoon—something to do with Illyria."

In truth, Spike had actually set this up—he wanted her to get out and about during the day. Ok, so maybe he was ready to push her a bit…

She climbs out of bed and slowly starts to get ready—a dim frown lurking beneath her usual placid expression. She showers, dresses and makes coffee. Spike does a poor job of feigning interest in the television—he's watching her, catching each tiny gesture, expression and movement. Everything reveals a growing anxiety as the time for her departure nears. He wonders why? What is she afraid of? She's too lost in her thoughts to notice his attention and is startled when he speaks.

Spike: "'He sending a car for you?"

Deth: "No. I said I'd make my own way."

Spike nods. She goes back to drinking her coffee.

Spike: (trying to pull her out of her thoughts for a moment) "So, what was Wolfram & Hart's conclusion about me, then? "

Deth: (lost) "What?"

Spike: "You read the file—just curious about their take on things."

Deth: (Coming out of her pseudo-meditation; She doesn't think twice about his asking—she finds his occasional need for ego-stroking endearing.) "Worthy of their attention, but ultimately too unpredictable to be of use."

Spike: (sarcastic) "Come on, give it 'me in nutshell then. No need for elaborative details."

Deth: "You asked for 'conclusion'. Besides, I have to…go."

She puts down her mug and walks to the couch, where her coat is strewn over the arm. She puts it on, throws her bag over her shoulder and then glances over at the bedside table where her iPod is laying. Spike had given her one soon after they'd got back from Chicago—stolen, of course—already had music on it, but it's the thought that counts. He figured it would help her drown out her thoughts. But like everything else, she appeared to take it to extreme—she always had it on, the little white headphones tucked in her ears anytime she wasn't actually in bed. Oh well—whatever works. Seeing her gaze, he reaches for it as she walks over to claim it.

Spike: "What you got on this thing, now anyway? You're not still listening to bloody Eminem, are you?"

But before he can hit a button to see for himself, she snatches it from him (a bit too hastily).

Deth: (shrugging) "He's angry. I like it."

Spike: "Yeah, but it's crap angry. I can give you quality angry if you'll let me have it for a spell."

A quick shake of the head as she dutifully puts the buds in her ears and turns to go. She stops briefly at the door, turns her head with a small smile…

Deth: "Bye."

Spike smiles back and nods. After she's gone, he slides out of bed, pulls his pants on and lights up a cigarette. Not a minute later, he hears her frantic footsteps and clumsy fumbling of keys outside the door. He rushes to the door and opens it, finding her breathing heavily and shaking on the other side, frantic to get inside. She's pulled the sleeves her of t-shirt over her hands and one of her arms is draped over her face—she pushes past him into the apartment. He leans over and picks up her bag, which she dropped, and closes the door behind him.

Spike: "What's wrong?"

Deth: (obviously upset, her hands still over her eyes) "I can't…I can't—the light. It hurts."

Is she crying, or is it just her eyes running?

Spike: "What are you talking about?"

Deth: (her voice is shaking) "The sun. I can't…it burns. I shouldn't... Call Wesley and tell him I can't come until later."

Okay, this is too much—he decides he has to say something. He pulls her hands from her eyes and grabs her shoulders roughly. He shakes her enough to get her to look up at him.

Spike: (sternly) "This has got to stop. Deth, you're not a vampire. You're not like me. The sun doesn't burn you. It's all in your head, love."

Deth: "You don't know."

Spike: "Yes I do. Everything you've been doing lately—you're making yourself into something you're not. Imprisoning yourself. It's the guilt. I know."

Deth: (weakly) "But it hurts."

Spike: "You think it hurts because you think it _should_ hurt. (softening his tone) You're not a demon—you're a girl."

Deth: (calming down, her tone is now mellow, sad.) "Not _just_ a girl anymore."

Spike: (frowning, he loosens his grip on her shoulders) "You need to stop this."

Deth: (suddenly looking a bit green) "I feel sick."

She breaks away and runs to the bathroom, where she throws up in the toilet. He follows her in there. When she's done, she splashes some cold water on her face. Blotting the water with a hand towel, she takes a deep breath.

Spike: (leaning in the doorway) "Maybe it's time we talk about this, yeah?"

Deth: "I'm dealing with it."

Spike: (incredulous laugh) "You're serious?"

Deth: "I'm not crazy."

Spike: "Didn't say you were."

Deth: "It hurt."

Spike: "I know."

They stand there in silence for a few minutes.

Deth: "They don't do human sacrifice—the Pastuyk. There isn't a single account of them using humans in any ritualized way."

Spike: "But they hunt them sometimes."

Deth: (frowning) "Not the same."

Spike: "So we'll look into it when you get back tonight."

Deth: (fear in her eyes) "Get back? But I can't…"

Spike: (wanting to push her, but understanding her fear. A compromise…) "We'll bundle you up—I've have some experience covering skin."

Deth reluctantly agrees. When she's fitted with a hat, gloves and big sunglasses, they head to the door. As she's putting her ear buds in, Spike playfully grabs the iPod and hits the menu button. He frowns and looks at her curiously.

Spike: "Battery's dead."

She sighs and pulls the headphones off.

Deth: "I lost the charger. (beat) A few weeks ago."

Spike: (shocked) "What? But I thought…"

Deth: "Listen, I know what you said about drowning, burying—but I need to deal in my own way."

He is completely floored that she hadn't been taking his advice, especially when he had become convinced that she was taking it to extremes.

Spike: (bemused, mildly defensive) "So you just ignored me, then?"

Deth: "I love you, but you're not exactly a paragon of mental health."

Spike: (He can't really argue) "Well yeah, but…"

Deth: (reassuring) "You've helped."

She gives him a small smile as she turns to go. In the doorway, she turns back to say:

Deth: "Next personal catastrophe, it's all you."

After she leaves, he laughs to himself and shakes his head—perhaps he doesn't know her quite as well as he'd thought. A refreshing touch of unpredictability.

End Scene

(Writer's note: I have to do some shorthand summaries here…just running out of time…)

Deth makes it in to work without incident, though she continues to cover herself as much as possible every time she is out in sunlight. Before the confrontation with Spike, she had been going to mention it to Wesley—perhaps there was some explanation for her sensitivity. But now she's not sure that it isn't all in her head—a manifestation of her guilt. And she's not about to talk to Wesley about the sacrifice just yet.

As her interpretive skills have continued to decline, she'd been going on more field missions with Wesley and the others as needed. She was still useful in many situations. Oddly, one night when they were out, she was actually attacked by a vampire. Not singled out—they were all under attack—but she was so used to being ignored in such situations. Luckily, she was quick enough to defend herself, but the incident left her feeling even more freaked out. Wesley tried to convince her that it was likely an isolated incident—of course, he was quite fascinated because it could give them a clue about why Deth has never been attacked before, so he quickly took to analyzing every detail of what happened. For the first time in her life, Deth began to feel vulnerable.

Scene: Wolfram and Hart—Angel's office. Deth, Wes and Angel are pouring over some important demon document. Harmony appears at the door, carrying some paper bags.

Harmony: "Your order from Moe's—I've got a corned beef on rye and a Popeye burger, extra rare."

Wesley: "Corned beef. Thanks, Harmony."

Harmony: (to Deth) "Oh, so this one must be yours." She promptly/pointedly lets it drop to the floor. "Oops." She turns, snottily and walks out of the room. She returns a moment later with another bag.

Harmony: (again to Deth) "Ooh, almost forgot. I asked them to throw in an extra order of fries, because I can really tell how hard you've been working to pad out those hips. Enjoy."

Wesley: (to Deth) "I thought you were a vegetarian."

Deth: (Walking over to retrieve the bag from the floor.) "Nope."

Angel asks Harmony to bring him a bottle of blood from the refrigerator in the employee lounge.

They go back to pondering the document. A drop of blood from Angel's mug falls on the scroll, just as Deth takes a bite of her burger and a big splash of burger juice does the same. Wesley rushes to wipe it off. Deth appears transfixed.

Wesley: (annoyed) "Perhaps we should continue this after dinner. (noticing Deth's glazed stare) Are you getting something? It is an original…"

Deth: (flustered) "What? Oh. No. Sorry."

She mumbles something about not sleeping well. She offers to eat the rest of her dinner in the lounge.

A while later, Deth is in Wesley's office. They're both reading separate books. Deth starts shifting in her chair. She coughs once or twice.

Wesley: "Are you alright?"

Deth: "Fine. I've just had a bug. Or something."

Wesley: "If you don't mind my saying, you look awfully pale. Perhaps you should stop down to the clinic on your way home today—you've been missing a lot of work these past few weeks."

Deth: "Went the other day. They took some blood."

Wesley: "Well?"

Deth: "I'm a bit anemic, that's all. They gave me some iron pills—told me to eat more meat."

Wesley: "Oh."

They go back to reading. But after a few more minutes, Deth starts looking very ill. She stands up from her chair, looking wobbly.

Deth: "I'm gonna be sick."

Wes jumps up and grabs a wastebasket from under his desk and thrusts it in front of her just in time. Unfortunately, it's metal mesh (made for holding paper) and so the liquid leaks out the side and falls on the papers littering the floor—it's blood. Wesley looks up at her, shocked and concerned.

Wesley: "We've got to get you to the hospital."

Deth: (recovering) "No, I'm fine."

Wesley: "You're not fine. You're vomiting blood."

Deth: "It's not what you think."

Wesley: (shocked at her response) "Pardon my confusion, but I can't fathom how having a stomach full of blood can be anything but a matter of medical concern."

Deth: "No, it's just…"

Wesley: "Just what? (not waiting for her to answer) You're anemic and vomiting blood. I'm calling the medics downstairs." He reaches for the phone.

Deth: "Please, Wesley. It's really not a big deal."

Wesley: (frowning) "Are you going to tell me why?"

Deth: (obviously embarrassed/hesitant to admit something) "I…had blood in my stomach because…because I drank it."

Wesley: (not quite sure he heard correctly) "Drank what?"

Deth: "The blood."

Wesley: "Whatever for?"

Deth: (shrugging) "It just appealed."

Wesley: "It appealed. (!) Didn't you find that a bit odd?"

Deth shrugs sheepishly.

Wesley: (trying to understand) "And how did it taste? The one time I had a mouthful, it was rather…horrible."

Deth: (considering) "It wasn't as bad as I thought it might be."

Wesley: "Interesting. (beat) Of course your body rejected it, as it should. I suppose that's a good sign. Still, I'd say the matter is far from trivial."

Deth stands there a moment, looking pensive. Then she blinks hard a couple of times, as if she's having trouble focusing. Wesley steps over to support her just as her knees start to go—he leads her to a chair.

Deth: "Maybe I should go."

Wesley: "I don't quite understand your hesitation to get this looked into. There's obviously something wrong."

Deth: (almost a whisper—as if she's letting Wes in on a secret) "The thing is….I may just be losing it."

Wesley: "And by 'it', you mean…"

Deth points to her head.

Wesley: (with a hint of a smile; sympathetic) "Well, you're certainly in good company here. Still, perhaps we should spend a bit of time ruling out physical and/or supernatural causes before we declare 'it' entirely lost. Deal?"

Deth smiles, relieved—she'd expected him to press her on the 'why' and she still wasn't ready to share that with him.

Deth: "Thanks."

Wesley: "This could all be related—the dampening of your interpretive abilities, the attack the other night, your...illness. (beat) Yes, quite intriguing."

After escorting Deth down to the clinic, Wesley is newly motivated to dig a bit deeper into Deth's story. Months ago, he'd started numerous lines of inquiry, most of which he had never followed up on. It was so hard for him to focus, still. He wondered whether that would ever end—what would it take?

Tbc...


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Scene: Outside W&H's in-house clinic. Through the window, you can see Deth sitting at the end of a hospital bed, her legs dangling over the edge. She is dressed, though there is a hastily folded up gown on the bed next to her, implying that she only recently changed. She's looking a bit more perky. Spike is leaning against the bed to her left. He's shuffling a deck of cards.

Spike: "Another hand?"

Deth: "Sure."

Spike deals out one card up and one card down to each of them. Deth looks at her card, Spike at his.

Spike: "Well?"

Deth: "Hit me."

Spike tosses a card down—it's a two of spades. Deth frowns slightly.

Spike: "Another one?

Deth: "Nah, I'll stick."

Spike: "Alright then. Dealer takes a card. (He places a card on his two—it's an ace) Look at that—21. Again. You're really in the hole now, pet. (smiling devilishly) S'gonna take a lot of effort to work off that kind of debt. You might have to take off a few days of work."

Deth: (A light frown, followed by realization) "You're cheating. You've been cheating this whole time."

Spike: (shaking his head) "Can't BELIEVE it took you so long to figure that out. You're seriously off your game. Good thing we weren't playing for money."

Deth rolls her eyes and tosses her cards at him, playfully.

Switch perspectives to outside, looking in. Wesley is talking to one of the doctors just outside the door—the doctor hands him a file and then walks away. Lorne is standing at the window, looking in on Deth, waiting for Wes to approach.

Lorne: "How's our little peanut doing? Either Tony in marketing finally talked her into that make-over, or she's naturally dropped that vampire chic look she's been sporting lately."

Wesley: (without skipping a beat) "Yes, her color is a bit better. They gave her a blood transfusion last night and it seems to have helped."

Lorne: "Any word on the cause?"

Wesley: (scanning the medical report) "Our in-house shaman hasn't found anything unusual so far. I'd still like your friend to examine her if you can arrange it—you never know who you can trust around here."

Lorne: "No trouble at all. Have her stop by my digs tomorrow night after American Idol."

Wesley: "As for the medical side, nothing conclusive yet. They'd like to run a few more tests, but there is a complicating factor."

He shows Lorne something in the report.

Lorne: (surprised) "Oh. (concerned) Oh. That spells trouble with a capital 'P', that rhymes with 'T' that stands for Tom Collins—hang on to your alcohol, it's gonna be a bumpy night. (beat) Poor thing. Well, good luck with the messenger thing. I'd better give ol' Sharm a call about tomorrow."

Wesley: (lifting an eyebrow in disbelief of the name) "Sharm the shaman?"

Lorne: "Tell me about it—try to say THAT ten times fast while sweating through a Chrysellian skin curse."

Lorne leaves and Wes frowns down at the file. Before he heads into the room, he looks up to see Illyria peering down from a balcony above. He gives her a quizzical look and she abruptly turns to leave. He opens the door and walks in. He musters an awkward smile as he approaches the bed.

Spike: "Don't like the look of that. Let me guess, you've got good news and bad news."

Wesley: "It is often the way with these things, isn't it? (focusing on Deth) How are you feeling?"

Deth: "Better."

She says this with an air of relief. Pause as she waits for Wesley to say something. He stands there in silence for a moment.

Wesley: "Perhaps it would be best for us to speak privately."

Spike: "Definitely don't like the sound of _that_."

Wesley: (feigning lightness, not terribly effectively) "Oh no, not to worry. It's simply been brought to my attention that _legally_ there are things we're not supposed to discuss with anyone present except family. As this _is_ a law firm…

Deth: (not letting him finish) "But _you're_ not family."

Wesley: (Doh. He would much rather discuss things without Spike in the room and was hoping to slip that one by.) "True, true. (beat) I suppose it's up to you. If you'd prefer, Spike and I could wait outside and you could speak directly with the doctor."

Deth: "Why? You've got my chart right there."

Wesley: "There are some things the doctors would like to know. _Personal _things. I thought perhaps you wouldn't be comfortable."

Deth: (Frowning, now a little worried. Lowering her voice to a whisper.) "Honestly, I'd rather talk to you than Larry."

Spike: "Who's Larry?"

Deth: "Sorry, Dr. Rosen...bloom...burg...blatt. (Off of Spike's look) Friends with Darryl—we used to double date. (beat) It was awful."

Wesley: (frowning) "Very well. Dr. Rosen_thall_ will be back shortly to draw some more blood. Perhaps we can cover a few things in the interim. (glancing down at the chart) The..."

Deth interjects.

Deth: "Good news first."

Wesley: "The dichotomy is not quite so obvious. There isn't much news at all, really. The shaman came up empty handed, though I'd like you to meet with someone who isn't under Wolfram & Hart's employ to confirm that negative. Medically, the doctors have been able to rule out cancer based on the results of your bone marrow biopsy. Yet the fact that you responded so well to the blood transfusion implies that you have a deficit in red blood cell production. It's still possible that your marrow isn't functioning properly for some other reason—there are a few more tests they'd like to perform to investigate this."

Deth: "When?"

Wesley: "One of the tests requires the injection of a radioactive substance, which has some associated risks that you may want to consider."

Spike: (protective) "What sort of risks?"

Wesley: (trying to be as general as possible, a touch of obvious awkwardness) "For a woman in your age group...er...in prime reproductive years...the radiation could have a mutagenic affect on..."

Deth: (following the logic) "Not a problem. I don't want kids."

Wesley: "Yes, well, you might change your mind."

Deth: "I won't."

Wesley: (taking a breath, looking back down at the file) "The thing is, Deth, before they'll schedule these tests, as a precaution due to the known risks, they automatically test for...the blood was already drawn so they just…(stopping himself) Actually, why don't you just go home and get some rest. We can discuss this tomorrow."

Finally getting that Wesley is trying to hide something from Spike, Deth decides not to protest. Plus she's tired and ready to have a break from W&H and the doctors.

Deth: "Sure."

Wesley: "Give me a call tomorrow. I'll confirm your appointment with the external shaman and give you a time and place to meet."

Deth: "Okay. (A small but sincere smile to Wes) I feel good. Thanks."

Wesley nods and closes the file in his hand. Just then, a doctor strolls into the room.

Dr. Rosenthall: (in a bit too friendly/goofy voice) "Merry! Cannot for the life of me figure why you'd rather be called Deth than Merry. Merry is such a happy name. Not to mention that it rhymes with..."

Deth: (grimacing slightly, less than enthusiastic greeting) "Larry."

Larry: (looking at Spike, slight change of expression.) "This the new boyfriend?"

Deth: (introductions) "Spike, Larry. Larry, Spike."

Spike just nods, cooly—doesn't offer a hand.

Larry: "Heard a lot about _you_."

Spike: "Oh yeah? Who from?"

Larry: (ambiguously) "People talk. (turning back to Deth) Just need to get one more sample to see if your rbc count has changed significantly since the transfusion."

Deth thrust out her arm. Larry gets to work preparing to draw a blood sample.

Larry: (as he's collecting the blood, matter-of-factly to Wesley) "Dr. Lopez said he can squeeze her in for an ultrasound tomorrow afternoon."

Deth: (confused) "Ultrasound? (to Wes) You didn't mention..."

Larry: (cutting in before Wesley can respond) "We need to get an estimated age before we know how to proceed with the other tests."

Wesley: (trying to cover) "We hadn't actually gotten to that yet. We were going to discuss it tomorrow."

Larry: (slightly devilish grin) "Oh, the ultrasound isn't anything to worry about—it'll only take a minute. Nowadays, they can take a few measurements of the fetus and estimate the age with amazing accuracy."

Big sigh from Wesley.

Deth: (shock, confusion) "Fetus?"

Larry: (casually) "So long as it's more than 10 weeks..."

Wesley: (threatening) "Dr. Rosenthall, can I speak with you a minute?"

Larry: (feigning surprise) "Oh, I'm sorry. You hadn't told her she was pregnant? Gosh, this is awkward. I'll just finish up and let you all discuss this in private."

A few horrific moments pass before Larry takes the last tube of blood and removes the needle. Before leaving the room, he gives Spike a passing smirk before addressing Deth again.

Larry: "Hey, congratulations little lady. You take care of yourself. (as he's walking out the door) I'll be sure to give Darryl your regards next time I talk to him."

Spike had stiffened at the first mention of the word 'fetus', not sure he'd heard correctly. By the time Larry had dropped the anvil for the third time, it was obvious he had. He pushes away from the bed and stands up straight. As the moments pass, he begins to look more and more agitated, clenching his teeth and cocking his head slightly. Wesley is the first to speak.

Wesley: "I'll have him removed from your case immediately. I apologize. (beat) I was planning on telling you myself, but under the circumstances...(Wes glances toward Spike, concerned) Of course, you can still see the shaman and certain tests are still possible, so we _can_ take this further. We'll simply need to proceed with more caution."

Spike: (deep, serious) "Mind leaving us alone for a minute?"

Wesley: (worried) "Of course. I'll be in my office."

During this time, Deth has been staring off to the side, a look of confusion and shock on her face, her brow furrowed deeply. Her mind can't seem to find words, so she sits there in silence holding the cotton gauze tightly to the skin where the needle left its mark.

Spike fishes in his coat for a pack of cigarettes and in quick, deliberate motions pulls one out, lights it and takes a long drag. He doesn't care about the no smoking signs or even Deth's standing request. Instead of having a calming affect, the cigarette appears to ignite him. He starts shifting in place.

Spike: (angry, but still calm, dripping with threat) "Somethin' you want to tell me, luv?"

Deth turns to him, but stays silent, unable to muster even a sound, paralyzed by his tone.

He shakes his head and with a small puff of air, begins pacing.

Spike: "I can't even figure when you had the time, laying about like you have been. (thinking for a moment, furrowing his brow, first looking down, then back up at her) Was it Darryl? Someone in Chicago? Oh god, don't tell me it was bloody Percy. (shakes his head to dispel the thought, then turns away as he starts to rant) You know, I don't even care. I am so fed up with you birds. Un-fucking-believable you _all_ are. Lying, cheating, ungrateful...Why do I even bother? Why the bloody hell do I let myself expect _anything_? (looking back at her) Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me there's an explanation. I'll probably believe you because I'm a fucking idiot when it comes to women—ask anyone. (He stops speaking only for an instant—not long enough for Deth to loosen the tightness in her throat to get a word out. He just shakes his head at her silence) You're the worst, you are. Playing the victim, making promises...and just when I was starting to...(He doesn't finish. He stops and clenches his jaw. He's straining to keep his hands from turning into fists. He wants so badly to shake her, to hit her, to throw her against a wall like he could with Dru or Buffy. But he can't because she's breakable and he doesn't _really_ want to see her broken. He closes his eyes as he walks past on his way to the door, mumbling in her direction:) Shoulda known, the way _we_ started off."

She can't watch him go. She stares at the shards of glass floating in the air, or so she imagines.

Switch to Wesley's office. He's reading one of W&H's "special" books, having called up a text he'd found months ago which had a brief mention of a human like Deth—seemingly invulnerable to demons. Or perhaps it was invisible—difficult to translate, that. As he reads, the page goes blank.

Wesley: "Not again."

Then words appear on the page:

**_Protect her_**

Wesley: "Who?"

**_Novaszi_**

He frowns in puzzlement. As if in response...

**_The devitsya_**

**_The deva_**

Wes looks up from the book, surprised.

Wesley: "Deth."

**_NOVASZI_**

The page goes blank and the previous text resurfaces.

Next we're following Illyria as she walks through the halls of W&H. She's obviously looking for something, though as always, her movements are slow and deliberate. She pauses as she walks past an open door. She turns and finds herself at the entrance to Wolfram & Hart's file room. The file clerk appears at the desk as Illyria approaches. She starts to speak, but Illyria quickly brings her finger to her lips and accompanies this gesture with a threatening look. The clerk's eyes widen and she disappears. Illyria turns the corner and walks among the rows of file cabinets. She hears heavy and uneven breathing from the end of a row of cabinets and walks directly to the source. She finds Deth sitting on the floor, backed against the side of the last cabinet. She is leaning forward slightly, with tears streaming heavily down her cheeks, her breathing not quite formed into proper sobs. At the moment Illyria appears around the corner, Deth is staring curiously at her own fingers, which are wet with her tears.

Illyria: (confrontational, as always) "You hide."

Deth: "Go away."

Illyria: (cocking her head to the side.) "No."

Deth wipes her eyes again with her fingers and stares at the wetness.

Illyria: (disgusted) "Now you leak like the others."

Deth: (her voice is weak, cracking with emotion) "They don't help...tears. People say they make you feel better, but they don't."

Illyria: "Why are you inflicted with this new weakness?"

Deth doesn't respond, but at the mere thought of trying to explain it, the tears flow faster and she pulls her knees up tightly to her chest.

Illyria bends down to get a closer look at Deth's face.

Illyria: "This is fear? No, this is pain. This is sadness. You become more like the others. I do not approve of this change."

Deth lets out a short, stifled moan. Illyria stands up abruptly and her expression changes slightly—she is agitated.

Illyria: "Stop at once. Return to your normal state."

Deth continues to ignore her. A flash of confused anger crosses Illyria's face. She reaches down and starts to yank Deth to her feet.

Illyria: "You defy me. I command you to cease this and amuse me."

Trying to pull away.

Deth: "I can't."

Illyria: "Explain."

Deth: "Please, just leave me alone."

Illyria: (surprised) "I cannot."

Deth: (trying to placate her) "You were right. The cause is sadness. I cannot stop it until I am no longer sad."

Illyria: (smug) "Of course I was right. (beat) Explain how to make you...'no longer sad'."

Deth: "You can't."

Illyria: "I can do anything. Define the cause of this sadness."

Illyria still has hold of Deth's arm. Deth is standing, but now leaning back against the cabinet. Deth knows that Illyria is in no mood to let this drop—she is feeling needy. Deth takes a breath and wipes the tears from her face one more time.

Deth: "Spike, he..."

Illyria: "Spike makes you sad—I will kill him for you." (She lets go and turns to leave.)

Deth: "No. Please, no. (She takes another breath and focuses on how to phrase this so that Illyria will understand) I am sad because Spike is angry with me—he has left me."

Illyria: "He will not speak to you? I understand. Wesley does not speak when he is angry. Explain his anger."

Deth: "Remember when I told you that different types cannot breed together? I'm pregnant. (off her confused look) I have an egg inside me that is growing. Spike can't be the father, so he is angry."

Illyria: "You cannot fertilize your own egg, as some species do?"

Deth: "No."

Illyria: "So you have mated with your own kind."

Deth: "No. But that is what Spike believes."

Illyria: "Jealousy. I understand."

Deth: (starting to cry again) "I couldn't tell him. He wouldn't believe me. I couldn't get the words out."

Illyria: "Where do you house your egg?"

Deth: "Why?"

Illyria: "Show me."

Deth points to her abdomen. Illyria roughly places her hand where Deth pointed and frowns in concentration.

Deth: (surprised/defensive) "What are you doing?"

Illyria: "Come with me."

She grabs Deth's arm and yanks her in the direction of the exit. Deth tries to pull away, but can't.

Deth: "Where are we going?"

Illyria: "To Wesley."

Switch to Spike walking briskly toward the entrance of a demon bar. He isn't in the mood to be anywhere near humans right now. There are a few demons milling about outside. As he passes, they look at him and whisper, but he doesn't notice.

The walk has calmed him a bit. He steps up to the bar, sits on a stool and orders a drink. He downs it and orders another. This one he sips. He's still angry, but some seeds of regret are starting to form in his mind. Maybe he shouldn't have been so harsh—maybe his words were too strong. He had let his anger from two previous relationships slip in and that wasn't terribly fair. It might not have been as bad as all that—it could've only been the one time—that's all it takes, right? Maybe it was just an ex-boyfriend pity shag for Darryl before he left town. Not as if _he'd_ never had a bit on the side when the occasion called for it—maybe not since he'd been dating Deth, but before. It's just fucking, right? (He thinks about this a minute and his blood starts to boil again. He quickly finishes his drink.) Ech, but what if it was Wesley. What if they'd been going at it every time she went to work. He flinches.

His train of thought is interrupted by the bartender pouring him another drink—single malt scotch this time.

Spike: "I didn't order this."

Bartender: (with a conspiratorial smile) "On the house."

He nods a thank-you and takes a deep sip. Continuing from before…It couldn't be Percy. No way. That guy hasn't gotten laid in months. Maybe years. No way. But who else? When has she had the time?

The bartender pushes a big glass of blood in front of Spike.

Bartender: "Compliments of the guy in the green shirt at the end of the bar."

Spike turns to see a vampire giving him a thumbs up and smiling. Spike gives him an awkward nod.

Spike: (to the bartender) "Mind telling him I don't swing that way? Cheers."

Back to his thoughts. He feels bad that he didn't even look at her really, once he heard the news. Didn't let her try to explain. It might not have been as bad as all that, he repeats to himself. And it's not as if he's in love with her or anything. What does he care if she screws around. Ok, so he does care. And it does hurt. Maybe that's why he is so upset.

He feels a tap on his shoulder and turns around. It's another vamp—no one he recognizes. He thinks to himself, "Please don't be looking for a fight. Not right now."

Vamp: "Just want to let you know that we've got your tab for the rest of the night. Blood, booze, whatever you want."

Spike suddenly looks around, worried that he has stumbled into a GAY demon bar by mistake. No, he's been here before. And there are women scattered about. The hell?

Spike: "Cheers, but I think I'm good."

At the table behind the vamp in front of him are three more guys with beers in their hand—as he looks at them, they all lift their bottles up in a silent toast.

Vamp: "Whatever you want."

The vamp returns to the table.

Weirded out by all this, Spike decides to leave. He fishes in his coat for some money and puts a fiver down on the bar as he slides off his stool. The bartender quickly hands it back to him.

Bartender: (friendly) "Your money's no good here."

Spike now looks really confused, but takes the bill and starts to leave. On the way out of the bar, he hears lots of whispering. He just about crashes into another vamp who steps between him and the door as he's looking off to the side.

Spike: "Sorry."

Vamp2: "Listen, man, just want to say—wow. A VAMPIRE. Who woulda thought? AWESOME. You ROCK!"

He gives Spike a rough, congratulatory pat on the back as Spike walks past him toward the door.

Spike: (Mumbling to himself) "What is this, a bloody vampire pep rally?"

Just as he passes through the threshold of the door, he hears vamp2 whisper something to another demon at the next table—all he can make out is the word 'father'. He decides to head straight back to W&H to figure out what's going on.

Switch to Wesley's office. He's excitedly reading from one book, while an intern brings in three more. He looks more bright-eyed than he has for a while. He is just picking up the phone to call Angel when Illyria comes barging in, dragging Deth behind her. Wesley puts down the phone and turns to them. Illyria pushes Deth toward Wesley.

Illyria: "You must explain to him."

Deth: (still teary eyed, annoyed at Illyria) "He already knows."

Wesley: (oddly formal) "Hello, Deth. (beat) What's this about, Illyria?"

Illyria: (to Wesley) "_You_ explain to Spike."

Wesley: "Explain what?"

Illyria: (pointing to Deth's abdomen) "It is vampire."

Deth: (whipping her head around toward Illyria) "What?"

Wesley: (not as shocked as he could be) "Impossible. Vampires are not born—they are made. You refer to them yourself as halfbreeds."

Illyria: "Because it _was_ does not mean it always will be."

The phone rings. Wesley steps calmly to his desk and answers it. He talks for a few seconds and hangs up.

Illyria: "You will tell him."

Wesley: (to Deth) "That was the clinic on the phone. Your blood sample showed a decline in red blood cell count already from this morning. Considering the circumstances, I think it would be best for you to stay here."

Deth: "Wes, what she said—can it be true?"

Wesley: (rather coldly) "I don't know. Can it?"

Deth is stunned by his sudden stiffness. She gives him a confused shrug.

A man arrives at the door.

Wesley: "Cameron will escort you back down to the clinic. I'll be down in a while to discuss this further. Perhaps you should get some rest in the meantime."

Illyria: "I will not be escorted by vermin."

Cameron steps in and leads Deth out of Wesley's office. Illyria stays behind a moment.

Illyria: "You will tell Spike, immediately."

Wesley: "Whatever you say, your eminence."

Illyria: "You lie. You mock me."

Wesley: "Why do you show such concern for Deth?"

Illyria: "I wish her to be as she was."

Wesley: "But why?"

Illyria: "I desire it. There need be no other explanation."

Wes shakes his head.

Wesley: (under his breath) "Why do I bother?"

Illyria leaves and quickly catches up with Deth and her "escort".

Illyria: "Soon you will be 'no longer sad'. Soon things will be as they were."

Deth: (under her breath) "Unlikely."

Switch to Angel's office. Wesley is in the process of explaining the situation.

Angel: "The book referred to her as Novaszi?"

Wesley: "Initially, it used the terms devitsya and deva, both rather generic demonic terms for maiden or virgin."

Angel: "Not the _best_ description of Deth. She _has_ been dating Spike."

Wesley: "Regardless, it _was_ referring to her. I've made some progress with the name—Novaszi. There are references to it, her, across many different texts from many different areas of demonology. The odd thing is that whenever I call up one such text, I barely get through it before it vanishes from the page and I am unable to summon it again."

Angel: "How is that possible?"

Wesley: "Perhaps someone here is trying to hide the information from me."

Angel: "Then why let you see it at all?"

Wesley: "I don't know. All I know is that I'm only able to see each bit of information once before it appears to be gone forever. I'm afraid that before I discovered the pattern, I skimmed quickly through a few things and didn't absorb much. To proceed, I'll need to take things more slowly so I can more thoroughly assimilate the information mentally."

Angel: "Let me know what you need."

Wesley: "It might be worth trying to get a hold of the hard copies of these texts. I'll look into it. (beat) Before I tell you what I've learned so far, we should talk about a recent and perhaps quite relevant development in regards to Deth's health."

Angel: "Is she alright?"

Wesley: "Depends on your definition."

Switch perspective to Spike approaching Angel's office. As he barges through the door, he sees Angel looking irritated, hands on his desk, shaking his head. Wesley has just finished telling him about the pregnancy. Spike doesn't wait for either of them to speak.

Spike: "Something really freaky is going on. I think it has something to do with Deth and me."

Angel just snaps back at him.

Angel: "Do you have to do EVERYTHING I do? Seriously, everything? You really need to get your own life because this is getting ridiculous."

Spike: (totally confused, annoyed at the attack) "What?"

After a cautionary look from Wesley, Angel lets out a deep sigh and glances up at the ceiling like he does when he's annoyed.

Angel: (grouchy, petulant) "Nevermind."

Tbc….

(Writer's note: I'm assuming here that Spike doesn't know the truth about Connor.)


	9. Chapter 9

(AN: Anyone?...Anyone?...)

From Chapter 8:

Switch perspective to Spike approaching Angel's office. As he barges through the door, he sees Angel looking irritated, hands on his desk, shaking his head. Wesley has just finished telling him about the pregnancy. Spike doesn't wait for either of them to speak.

Spike: "Something really freaky is going on. I think it has something to do with Deth and me."

Angel just snaps back at him.

Angel: "Do you have to do EVERYTHING I do? Seriously, everything? You really need to get your own life because this is getting ridiculous."

Spike: (totally confused, annoyed at the attack) "What?"

After a cautionary look from Wesley, Angel lets out a deep sigh and glances up at the ceiling like he does when he's annoyed.

Angel: (grouchy, petulant) "Nevermind."

Chapter 9

Scene 1: Angel's office. A few minutes later...

Angel: (sarcastic, annoyed tone) "Congratulations, Spike. You knocked up demon girl. Perfect timing, too—just when things are starting to cook again."

Angel is referring to a recent increase in demonic activity around town, keeping everyone at W&H on their toes. Gunn walks in, catching just the last part of Angel's comment.

Gunn: "Looks like we're officially out of the lull and headin' full throttle into the storm."

He tosses a file folder on Angel's desk.

Gunn: "We're getting calls from all sides—law suits, territory disputes, massive trafficking of idols, charms and demonic artifacts. Nothin' really out there, but it's like everyone's makin' up for lost time."

Spike: (to Wes) "Does she know?"

Wesley: "She's knows it's a possibility. In fact, all _we_ have at the moment is Illyria's assertion."

Gunn: "Assertion about what?"

Angel: "Deth's pregnant."

Gunn: (reflexive smile, optimism) "Yeah? That's Gr...(glancing at Spike, he's struck by the reality of the situation and his smile disappears)...surprising, and probably not...(not finishing) Man, I never know how to react around here."

Spike: (matter of fact) "It's mine."

Gunn: "Yeah? Congratulations. (The smile is back for an instant, but then quickly disappears.) Or not. I'm guessing y'all've already covered the 'that's impossible' part of this discussion, right?"

Spike: (to everyone) "Like I said before, word's out. The whole bloody bar seemed to know."

Angel: "That can't be good."

Gunn: "Impossible pregnancies rarely are."

Wesley: (to Spike) "What was the context—did you get a feel for their reaction?"

Spike: "Oh they were happy as Larry, for sure. All but lifted me up on their bloody shoulders."

Wesley: (curious frown) "Interesting."

Angel: (more concerned now) "I'm getting a bad feeling about this. Well, more bad. (correcting himself) Worse. (to Wes) I think you'd better tell us what you know."

Wesley: "I don't want to sound alarmist, but this pregnancy could be of great significance. Based on the information I've been able to gather so far, it is likely neither a random nor accidental event."

Spike: (a touch defensive) "What do you mean?"

Wesley: "I have plenty of research left to do, but I believe we must consider everything that has happened in the past few months—maybe years—to be related to Deth's condition. The references to Novaszi uniformly involve discussions of a new era—the coming of a new age. The name itself is based on demonic roots meaning 'new life'."

Angel: (running his hand over his face, as one would do if exhausted) "Aw, Jesus. So you're telling me that the quiet, pleasant, if slightly odd girl that _you_ talked me into hiring is actually the bringer of the next apocalypse?"

Gunn: "She's been sitting here, under our noses the whole time we've been bustin' our asses chasing down every other crumb down the apocalyptic trail-of-horrors. _Damn_."

Spike: (frowning, skeptical) "Maybe. But you can't think she knows about any of this."

Wesley: (shrugging) "We can't say for sure. We _have_ given her almost full access around here."

Angel: "The perfect vantage point."

Gunn: "She's got names, contact info—she sat in on most of our negotiations with just about every demon clan around the city. Who knows what she could do with all that."

Spike: "You're serious? Come on. Did you see her face when Dr. Whatshisface let the cat out of the bag downstairs?"

Wesley: "She's not exactly easy to read."

This is met with agreement from everyone.

Spike: (frustrated) "'s cause you never _look_ at her."

Though in truth, he is feeling a bit guilty because he hadn't bothered to look for her expression when she heard the news either—he was too caught up in his own anger.

Angel: (skeptical) "Like you're such a good judge of character."

Spike: "Bloody well right I am."

Angel actually finds himself backing off of his knee jerk antagonistic response—Spike always has been annoyingly perceptive.

Angel: (more respectful) "You know her better than any of us. What do you think? Honestly. Shagging aside." (He couldn't stop himself from throwing that one in.)

Spike: (Pleased to be getting some credit. Without skipping a beat.) "She's just a girl. She has no idea."

There is a brief silence in the room as his words settle in. Spike knew before uttering the words that the first of his statements was not entirely true. He hadn't decided on the second, but he is careful to not let the others see even a hint of doubt.

Angel: (nodding) "Ok. So we work on the assumption that she doesn't know anything. Wesley, get back to the books. I want a full report yesterday. Gunn, get on the phone with some of the clients Deth has interacted the most with—see if they know anything."

Gunn: "I'm on it"

He leaves the room.

Wesley: "Angel, could I speak with you a moment?"

Wes walks over to Angel and says something quietly.

Angel: "In the meantime, I think it makes sense to keep Deth here for observation. At least until we know more. Spike, I need to know that we're on the same page with this. It's best for everyone if she stays here. You get that, right?"

Spike: (narrowing his eyes, brisling slightly) "Sure. Whatever you say, _boss_."

Angel keeps a steady expression, despite Spike's tone.

Angel: "Good."

Spike: "Good."

Wesley: "Spike, can I ask that you hold off visiting Deth for a couple of hours. I'd like to work through a couple more references before I bring her up to speed on the situation. And I may have some questions for you."

Spike just nods. In truth, he had already decided to hold off seeing her. He needed some time to think.

Scene 2: Wesley's office.

A couple of hours had turned into 24. Wesley is rummaging around his office with the nervous enthusiasm he used to feel when researching a mystery—a feeling that had recently eluded him. He has just summoned Spike and is awaiting his arrival.

Spike walks through the door.

Wesley: "Spike. Thanks for getting here so quickly."

Spike notices the slight tremor in Wesley's hands.

Spike: "Feeling alright, Perce? You look a bit shaky—time for a drink, maybe."

Wesley: (self consciously steadying his hands) "Yes, well, can't risk the alcohol interfering with my memory. There's a powerful spell on all of these texts that makes them impossible to duplicate or even transcribe the information therein. (pointing to his head) I have to keep it all up here."

Spike: "Good luck with that. (a bit of serious concern/empathy) The shakes will go in a day or two."

Wesley just nods.

Wesley: "I want to show you something."

He indicates a television screen in front of his desk. He points a remote control at it and it begins playing.

Wesley: "It's the surveillance tapes from the Halloween Party."

Spike frowns as he looks at the images—all black and white and somewhat grainy. He smiles when he catches a glimpse of Deth walking by the camera, all decked out, on her way in to the party. Ah, that was a good night. He wonders if there's a tape of them in Angel's office—he wouldn't mind reviewing that one.

Wesley pauses the DVD and rewinds to stop at the image of Deth with her back to the camera.

Wesley: "Those markings on her back—are they tattoos?"

Spike: "Henna. Temporary."

Wesley: "Did she tell you what they mean?"

Spike: (searching his memory---his focus that evening was not on conversation) "Think she said she'd just made it up—maybe saw it in a dream or something. Don't remember exactly."

Wesley shows him a drawing in a book with the exact same pattern.

Wesley: "Fertility symbols—a combination of various demon glyphs to promote conception."

Spike: (shrugging) "She must've seen the picture here and it stuck in her mind—had a dream about it."

Wesley: "Perhaps. A bit of a coincidence."

Spike: (pointed, challenging) "Yeah, I guess so."

Angel walks through the door.

Angel: "You have something for me?"

Wesley: "I've made some progress, yes. "

Angel: "Let's have it."

Wesley: "I'm still working on the significance of all this, but I have some insight into the details of the pregnancy at least. The Novaszi is a human female who has the ability to breed with demons—to create a hybrid—an entirely new being. It is unclear how or why, but there are prophesies in at least twenty different demonic texts of the existence of such a being."

Spike: "Is she the only one?"

Wesley: "From what I understand, there is only one. But I have found hints that there may have been others in the past."

Angel: "So where are the hybrids?"

Wesley: "It would seem that there are none. And once one is produced, there will be no more Novaszi."

Spike: "So I guess this _is_ kind of a big deal."

Wesley: "It's fascinating to find such congruence from such a diversity of sources. I'm beginning to suspect that this is part of an ancient religion of sorts that crosses typical species barriers. In any event, this pregnancy is of great significance and the offspring considered a messiah of sorts."

Angel: "A messiah?"

Wesley: "I should mention that this is all only suggestive—it is the reverence with which this offspring is referred to in the texts that led me to use that term. Thus far, I have found no prophesy describing the actual significance or ultimate purpose of the being. Only that it's existence may lead to some sort of grand unification. Or great chaos—the translation of that last bit was a bit tricky."

Angel: (frustrated sigh) "If it's such a big thing to so many demon cultures, then why have all the previous Novaszi failed?"

Wesley: "Demons aren't typically high on the list of dating prospects for your average human girl. (with a hint of snerk) Present company excluded, of course. And few full blooded demons would have had any appeal whatsoever."

Angel: "Sure, but since when is something like this left up to the girl? Not saying it's right, but if it were that important and they knew who she was..."

Wesley: "Oh, sorry, I forgot to mention—the texts were all very clear on this point—the Novaszi must choose her mate. It is entirely deliberate. She cannot be forced. And even then, other conditions must be met."

Spike: "Other conditions?"

Wesley: "This is where we may be in luck. It's likely there is still time to prevent it."

Spike: (eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of challenge in his voice as he repeats Wesley's words) "Prevent it."

A look of concern passes between Wesley and Angel.

Angel: "Uh, demon messiah, grand chaos, new era—there aren't many clearer ways to describe an apocalypse."

Wesley: "Even _the_ Apocalypse."

Angel: "Last time I checked, Spike, you weren't so keen on the 'end of the world' scenarios. Something about Happy meals and football..."

Spike: "I'm just saying we should think about this. Consider our options."

Angel: "Wes, lets _think_ about stopping it—what can we do?"

Wesley: "_Not_ do, actually. In order for the pregnancy to take—to go to term—there must be a human sacrifice."

Angel: (frowning) "That's not going to be easy—even with all our manpower, we can't keep our eye on every demon ritual in town. A single human sacrifice..."

Wesley: (interrupting) "It must be by Deth's hand. We need only to prevent Deth from performing such a ritual. (with a small smile) Not such a daunting task, I'd say."

Angel: (surprised/relieved) "That's it? (pause) Kind of anti-climatic, but I'll take it."

Spike: "Yeah, um. Before you two girls pop your corks, there may be a small problem."

Angel: "Why am I not surprised? (to Spike, annoyed) I bet it has something to do with you, doesn't it?"

Spike: "What is your deal? You've got such a bloody chip on your shoulder about this whole thing—it's not like I planned to knock her up. You heard the man, she picked me. I wouldn't be such a bastard to you if the situation were reversed."

Angel: "Yeah you would."

Spike: "Well, yeah. But that's just me. You're the one that has the guilt complex that makes you try to be nice. Usually."

Wesley: "Can we get back to the point? You mentioned a problem, Spike."

Spike: "Yeah, well, remember that hullabaloo up in Chicago a while back?"

Angel: "You took the jet. Cost the company $15,000. Hamilton is still bugging me about that one."

Spike: (a touch guilty) "Sorry, mate, but I was totally playing you. I flew out there to be with Deth. She'd gone to take care of some family business."

Wesley: (guessing which 'family' she meant) "The Pastuyk?"

Spike nods.

Spike: "It was supposed to be a funeral ritual—supposed to be a pig."

Wesley: "It was a boy."

Spike: "They tricked her. Used some sort of spell to make her think..."

Angel: "Were you there?"

Spike: "No. I came the next day."

Wesley: "So you didn't actually see the sacrifice."

Spike: (misunderstanding his implication) "She took me to the alter—I could smell the blood."

Angel: "But you didn't see her do it."

Spike: (getting it) "She was devastated—practically catatonic. There's no way she knew what she was doing."

Did she?

Wesley: (not convinced) "Regardless, it appears our easy out is no longer an option. Perhaps its time we talked to Deth."

Angel: (growing concern) "Let's meet in my office in an hour. Spike, we'll need your help convincing her to stay. We need to keep her close until we figure this out—decide what's best."

Spike: (dispassionate) "What's best. Sure."

Angel: "Will she listen to you?"

Spike: (without hesitation) "Yeah."

He's honestly not so sure...

Angel: "Good. Just back me up when the time comes."

Spike: (thoughtful frown) "No worries."

Angel: (detecting his concern) "If she's close, we can protect her."

Spike: "Whatever."

Spike strolls out the door. Another concerned look passes between Wes and Angel.

Wesley: "You think he might make a run for it?"

Angel: "Not yet. He's smart enough to understand what's at stake."

Wesley: "That's what concerns me."

Angel: "Maybe even smart enough to know he needs us to find out for sure."

Wesley: "But will he trust our conclusions? I'm not sure I would in his place."

Angel: (Thinking for a moment—he knows what his reaction would be.) "We'll do what we have to do."

Wesley nods, continuing to look worried.

Scene 3: Angel's office. Wes, Gunn, Lorne, Angel and Spike are hanging about. They're waiting for Deth to be brought up from the infirmary.

Angel: "Has anyone seen Hamilton? You'd think he'd be breathing down my neck by now."

Gunn: "His opinion could sure give us a clue what _not _to do."

Lorne: (mumbling/giggling to himself) "Or what not to wear. ha I could kick myself for letting that one slip through my fingers."

Angel: "He's too smart for that—he knows we'd do the opposite of his recommendation."

Gunn: "So we do what he says?"

Angel: (shaking his head) "He knows we don't trust him. He could use that to play us."

Gunn: "Back to opposite again. Man, I'm gettin' dizzy."

Lorne: "Yeah, yeah, yeah, never go in against a Sicilian, when death is on the line. I think we can assume here that both goblets are poisoned. Best to fake a migraine and order a glass of water."

Gunn: "Say again?"

Spike: "Don't listen to Hamilton, whatever."

Lorne: "Bingo."

Wesley: "Still, it would be useful to have some clue as to the reaction of the Senior Partners. Gunn, do you think you could get anything from your friendly feline?"

Gunn: "Sorry, I think that line of communication was closed for good when I gave up the lawyer mojo."

The phone rings. Angel picks it up. We hear him say, "Yeah, we're ready. Send her in."

Spike: "Do we really all need to be here?—Feels like an ambush."

Lorne: "Or an intervention. Neither is a bag of kittens."

Wesley: "She shouldn't feel threatened—we're all her friends."

Spike lets out a skeptical huff.

Deth is escorted in by the same guy, Cameron, who had led her back to the infirmary before. Once inside, she roughly pulls her arm away from his grasp, obviously irritated by it. She looks tired—her eyes are rimmed in red. Her hair is stringy and tucked behind her ears. She's wearing street clothes, though their lack of fit makes them look borrowed—her pants are unbuttoned, unable to fit around her growing waist and her t-shirt hugs her more tightly than her usual comfort level would allow. Angel asks Cameron to leave the room. Deth folds her arms and looks down, obviously uncomfortable to be the center of attention. She appears coolly angry.

She fights her urge to look at Spike—she is sure she will start crying again and doesn't want to appear so out of control. She can't understand why he hasn't come to see her. A few seconds pass in silence before it becomes too much for her to bear.

Deth: "Could you all stop looking at me? (smaller voice, though still irritated) It's not like you've never seen a demon pregnancy before. Happens _all_ the time."

Wesley: (scanning her face for some sign of malice) "What we are familiar with is akin to demon cleptoparasitism—the use of a human as an incubation chamber or food source for demon offspring. This, however, is entirely different."

Deth: (her eyes flick upwards and over to Wesley) "You _know_ that?"

Wesley: "Yes. (He decides not to elaborate.) Tell us, Deth, what you know of the term 'Novaszi'."

He is careful to not let his tone be too confrontational. In fact, he tries to sound as neutral as possible.

She frowns and starts to shake her head in defiant irritation at being asked about something she OBVIOUSLY knows nothing...but then the frown is wiped from her face and she closes her eyes. She exhales slowly and lets her shoulders drop as she lifts up her chin, drawing another breath.

Deth: (Surprised, but not surprised, as if something had just occurred to her that was then instantly obvious.) "It's me."

She looks around the room in a panic. All the muscles in her body tense. Her heart leaps into her throat and she feels herself lean towards the door, poised to run. But before she even takes a step, Angel steps forward and takes hold of her arm.

Angel: (more confrontational, but not overly so) "What do you want?"

His grip startles her out of her instinctual flight response. She turns to him, her expression now worried, tired. A hint of wetness is gathering in her eyes. Her answer is spontaneous and honest.

Deth: "I want to go home."

Angel: (A bit shaken by her obvious emotion, his tone softens) "That's not what I meant—what do you..."

Deth: (she doesn't let him finish) "I know what you meant. (wiping her eye with the back of her hand) I know what you think. But that's _all_ I know."

Wesley: "But you know you are the Novaszi. Tell us what that means."

Deth shakes her head. She's trying to find a way to explain, but it seems impossible. She sighs in frustration. She glances around the room. She closes her eyes the instant she catches a glimpse of Spike.

Deth: (slow, deliberate) "I know what I am. Just now. (pause) It makes sense. They all wanted me to choose them. That part's over now. I don't know what's next. Honestly."

Wesley: "You don't blame us for needing to know."

Deth shakes her head.

Wesley: "Perhaps you could sing a tune—let Lorne try to..."

Deth: "I can't sing. (matter-of-fact, almost as if she's thinking out loud) It wouldn't matter anyway—you couldn't trust him. He's a demon. He's biased."

Lorne: "Rest assured, peanut, I'll be the first to tell you not to quit your day job."

Deth just frowns in frustration.

Wesley: "I guess we have ourselves a bit of a conundrum."

Deth: (pleading) "Can't I just go home? Come back tomorrow?"

Wesley: "I'm afraid that's out of the question."

Deth: "So I'm a prisoner."

Angel: "No. Not exactly. We just need to know more about what's going on before we can figure out what's best."

Deth: (frustrated) "You know more than I do."

Spike: "Best leave her alone, let her get some rest. It's obvious she doesn't know anything."

Annoyed glance from Angel.

Wesley: "I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than that. Deth, I'm going to work on the assumption that you're being truthful with us. That you're knowledge of the significance of all of this is either nonexistent or at least not readily accessible. When you're rested, we'll work together to gain some understanding of the situation. Perhaps you simply need to be prompted, as you were a few moments ago, with the appropriate terminology. In any event, do you agree to work with us on this?"

Deth nods.

Deth: "So I can go?"

Wesley: "Unfortunately, the doctors have given me some information this morning that would make your leaving terribly risky. As Illyria asserted, the being within you is a vampire of sorts. We only know what the doctors are able to observe at this point. As with a typical human fetus, the two of you are connected via an umbilical cord. The difference is that instead of nutrients being filtered out of your blood and into the fetal bloodstream, the blood is being consumed directly. It would appear that prior to our treatment, your bone marrow was ramping up appropriately to meet the new demands. Yes, you were anemic, but not to the point of causing any long-term damage. Of course, the doctors didn't know any of this when they began treating you."

Gunn: "This isn't going anywhere good, is it?"

Wesley: "As the blood transfusions appeared to have such an instant effect, the doctors deemed it to be the right form of treatment and continued accordingly. But ultimately, the unnatural influx of blood has caused the fetus to grow more quickly. Its demands have already exceeded your body's ability to meet them and there doesn't seem to be a way to go back."

Spike: "Nutshell version, without the apologies?"

Wesley: "We have inadvertently made it impossible for you to endure this pregnancy without a continuous influx of blood."

Gunn: "And I'll bet baby is on its way to being born a bit on the premature side, too."

Wesley nods.

Lorne: "Ah, the miracles of modern science. Dizzying, isn't it?"

Gunn: "If we weren't evil, I'd say we'd be facing one killer lawsuit."

Deth listens, patiently, her heart sinking with every word.

Wesley: (heartfelt) "I'm sorry."

Deth: (calm, quiet) "I want to go home. I need to be alone. I can come back in a while."

Angel: "We can't let you do that."

Deth: (looking up, letting her gaze meet Spike's) "Spike? Please, we can just go."

Spike: (cool, unemotional) "Best to stay. They can take care of you here."

She looks crushed at his words.

Deth: (to Wes) "I'd like to lay down."

Wesley: "Of course. We've made up a room for you upstairs—it should be more comfortable than the infirmary."

She doesn't respond.

They call in Cameron to escort her away. Once she's gone.

Angel: "You think she's telling the truth?"

Spike: "No question."

Angel: " Wes?"

Wesley: "Most likely. Still, she may know more than she realizes."

Angel: "Let me know what you need to get to the bottom of this. Spike, thanks for backing me up."

Spike: "Anything for the team. (to no one in particular) I'm going out for a smoke."

They disperse.

Scene 4: Deth's room upstairs.

The room is fitted out like a little studio apartment. It has the feel of one of those in-hospital birthing rooms where they try to decorate it like a bedroom to make expectant mothers feel more at home—and yet everything is kind of cheap and fake and way too floral. There is medical equipment tucked around here and there—behind a picture, under the bed, etc. Deth is lying on the bed in her clothes, apparently asleep and yet somehow looking incredibly uncomfortable. Spike comes to the door—there's a security guard sitting outside who lets him pass. Spike closes the door behind him, but stays in the doorway, looking at Deth asleep on the bed. After a moment, she opens her eyes. They stay there in silence a moment, just looking at each other, expressionless. Spike is the first to speak.

Spike: "I disabled the surveillance in this room—it'll take a few minutes for them to figure it out. I want to know the truth. I won't tell Vader, I'll swear up and down to them that you're telling the truth and do what I can to keep you safe, regardless. (as if to explain) There's part of me in there. Not that I'm the paternal type, but it means something for sure. But I need to know—was this all part of the plan? You and me—everything? Can't say that I like being played the fool, but I'd have to give credit where credit is due."

Deth: (angry, bitter) "Fuck off."

Her words are like a slap in the face. He wonders if he's ever heard her swear before—he finds himself scanning his memory, letting his focus drift. No, he's never heard such bitterness in her voice. He instantly knows she couldn't be lying—couldn't be anyone different. He's not sure whether to be relieved or horrified.

Before he can say anything, she continues, despite her better judgment.

Deth: (choking on the words, still glaring at him) "Even for a second, how could you..."

Spike: "I'm sorry. Everything got kind of jumbled up. First you cheated on me, then you didn't, but then instead you turn out to be some prophetic being set to ring in the next apocalypse with a little help from my stuff—didn't know which was worse. Then you were ready to bolt in Angel's office when you found out we knew your deal. And everyone is so bloody tense down there, talking about the end of the world and such. You've surprised me before—I read you better than anyone and I still have trouble sometimes. Guess I just got caught up in the frenzy."

Deth: "First, if all I wanted was your 'stuff', do you honestly think I would have gone to all this trouble? It hasn't exactly been a picnic. And frankly, it's pretty easy to get in your pants. All I had to do was ask. And wouldn't _you_ run? This is still Wolfram and Hart, no matter who is in charge. And finally, if I _am_ responsible for an apocalypse, it will be totally unintentional."

Spike: "And that's what matters, surely."

He says this with a smidge of a wry smile. He gives her one of his looks—puppydog-ish, hoping for a bit of forgiveness. How can she resist? She loves how he can take a situation like this and instantly lighten the mood.

Deth: (a small smile) "Don't call my Shirley."

Spike: "That's my girl."

Deth: (forcing a frown) "I'm still mad."

Spike: "I know."

He starts to move towards the bed.

Deth: "It doesn't have to be a bad thing, this. They're afraid, but maybe they don't have to be."

Before Spike can respond, Angel comes barging through the door.

Angel: "Spike, what are you doing? Why did you mess with the cameras? I can revoke your access in a heartbeat"

Spike: "Would that be yours or mine? (beat) Don't get your knickers in a twist. I was just looking for some privacy—enough for a quick shag. Didn't want to give Officer McDoodle there a heart attack."

Angel looks skeptical.

Spike: "On second thought, it might be fun to get something on film—for posterity's sake and all that. What do you think, luv?

Angel shakes his head and looks toward Deth for some sort of confirmation.

Deth: (shrugs) "I'm pregnant, not dead."

Angel: "This, right here, is what got us in to this mess in the first place. Spike, Out. Now."

He starts to leave, annoyed. Deth calls out after him.

Deth: "Bring my pajamas?"

He turns around, giving her a smile with a nod on his way out.

A nurse is waiting outside the door with some more blood.

In Wesley's office, sometime later. He's just read a passage from a text and has closed his eyes in an attempt to commit it to memory. When he reopens them, the text is gone from the page. He's not surprised and begins to call up another. Instead, a few large words appear in the middle of the page.

WILL YOU PROTECT HER?

Wesley: "From what? She's done alright so far."

THERE IS DANGER.

ARE YOU HER PROTECTOR?

Wesley: "I'm not sure."

THERE IS KNOWLEDGE IN THIS TITLE

ARE YOU HER PROTECTOR?

Wesley: "Yes."

ASK FOR THE MAGIC WORD

Wesley: "You've got to be kidding."

Wesley: "I'll bite. What's the magic word?"

NOT HERE

Wesley: "Where then?"

NOT WHERE, WHO

Wesley: "Who?"

DUH

Wesley: "No need to be rude. I suppose you mean Deth."

The page goes blank and Wesley continues his research.

Scene 5: Angel's office, sometime later.

It is just Wesley and Angel.

Angel: "You think she may be in danger?"

Wesley: "That's what the text implied."

Angel: "From who? We're the good guys and we don't have a plan yet."

Wesley: "It would be unlikely for there to be complete agreement in the demon community as a whole. Perhaps there are factions, as there are in any religion."

Angel: "Any chance that the doctors who first examined Deth might have already known who she was?"

Wesley: "Unlikely, but possible. Why do you ask?"

Angel: "Just something Deth mentioned to me upstairs. Made me wonder if the unexpected effect of the blood transfusions wasn't entirely unexpected."

Wesley: "You think they did it on purpose to keep her here?"

Angel: "Keep her under their control."

Wesley: "Our control, you mean."

Angel: "Maybe. I'd like to see the personnel files on all the doctors who currently work in the infirmary."

Wesley: "I'll ask Harmony on my way out."

But before Wesley leaves, the lights go out. There is a great rumbling, almost like a small earthquake.

Angel: "What the?" He hits the intercom button "Harmony, what's going on?"

Harmony: (via the intercom) "Uh, the lights just went out."

Angel: "I can see that. Why did they go out?"

Harmony: "Got me, boss.

Wesley: "We should check on Deth."

They quickly leave the office and head up to check on Deth. They find her safe and sound, playing cards with Spike. While they're up there, the phone rings. Deth picks it up, then quickly hands it to Angel.

Deth: "It's for you."

Angel: "Yeah?"

Gunn: "I think you'd better get down here."

Angel: "What's up?"

Gunn: "Well, all the power in the building is out, with the exception of the phones and the elevators. Security reports the complete malfunction of all surveillance and weaponry. Looks like we're completely defenseless."

Angel: "How is that possible? It was never this easy to shut down Wolfram and Hart when _we_ were the good guys."

Gunn: "Yeah, that's not even the weirdest part. You've got to see this."

Angel and Wesley quickly head back downstairs. They find a robed demon whispering something into Harmony's ear.

On seeing Angel.

Harmony: "So, um, they don't actually have an appointment, but..."

Just then, the elevator opens and a team of about ten demons disperse out, as if to 'secure' the area. They ceremoniously remove all flashlights and any illumination brighter than a candle. Once they've accomplished this, they spread some sort of oil on the rug between the elevator and Harmony's desk. One of them runs back to the elevator. In a moment, a very large demon slithers from the open doors. He looks like a giant slug with gills—like a cross between a slug and a hellbender ( giant salamander) (author's note: think a cross between Jabba the Hutt and Rigel from Farscape), though he is draped in brightly colored, bejeweled robes. He has one servant/minion who sits on his shoulder, periodically ladling water out of a bejeweled container and pouring it under the collar of his robe, presumably to keep his "gills" moist. Surrounded by his minions, each now holding a dim candle to light the path, he approaches Angel.

Wesley whispers in Angel's ear.

Wesley: "This is fascinating—he's a Nektos demon. Extremely rare. No one has seen one for centuries. They're semi-aquatic."

That's all he has time for before the demon is "standing" in front of them.

ND: (deep, booming, gravely voice; his mouth drips when he talks) "Novaszi."

Angel: "Uh..."

One of the minions has been whispering in Harmony's ear again. As soon as it pulls away from her ear:

Harmony: "Get out! (the minion nods; Harmony turns to Angel to explain) "They're here to see Deth."

Angel: "Yeah, we got that."

Harmony: "His name is Nektriton and he's some sort of overlord or king or something—REALLY important. He's come from like WAY on the other side of...somewhere."

Angel: "What does he want with her?"

Harmony: "I think it said something about a gift."

Nektriton: "We honor Novaszi."

And with that, he turns to go back in the elevator. It is obvious that he knows the way already. Angel, Wesley and Gunn follow along, too dumbstruck and curious to do anything else. They all arrive in Deth's room. The Nektriton slithers up to the bed and bows a greeting. Deth waves back, looking mildly freaked. He then grunts loudly and two minions march in carrying a large, heavy chest. They place it near the foot of the bed. Nektriton barks another order and the minions open it, revealing that it is stuffed full of gold coins.

Spike: (impressed) "Shit."

Nektriton: "So Novaszi's baby have freedom from poverty."

The phone rings again. Deth picks it up and hands it to Angel.

Harmony (via the phone): "Yeah, uh, there's someone else here to see Deth. Should I send them up?"

Angel: "Them? (sigh) Sure, why not. (under his breath) Ghost of Christmas past, maybe?"

A few minutes later, a large-bodied, stocky demon enters the room with two servants by his side. He is wearing some sort of well crafted body armor. Bejeweled, of course.

"I am Hephos, leader of the Rentok clan, ruler of the Stroyit. I bring a gift to Novaszi, that her offspring will have freedom from fear."

One of his servants hands him a pouch. He turns it upside down into his hand and holds up a ring.

Hephos: "The ring of Amarrah."

Angel: "That's a fake—I destroyed it."

Spike: (turning to Angel with a look of contempt, snarky) "Of course you did."

Hephos: "We labored long and hard and invoked the darkest of magic to forge another."

He hands the ring to Deth.

Deth doesn't know what to say, so she softly smiles and nods. In response to this mild acknowledgement, the skin of the demon's face turns from brown to a pale purple color. He steps back with a pleased bounce and grins sheepishly, keeping his head down. His two servants give each other a subdued "low-five".

Gunn: "This is too weird, ya'll. Anyone else getting a feeling of deja-vous?"

Wesley: "Your eminences, may I ask how you knew Novaszi was here?"

Nektriton: "We follow beacon."

Gunn: "A beacon. Wait, like a star? Why is this sounding so familiar?"

Hephos: "No, the beacon—the one that's shining from the roof of your building. You know, like Batman."

Angel: "There's a beacon? (he picks up the phone) Harmony, can you trot outside and tell me if you see...Yeah? Well if you saw it on your way in to work this evening, why didn't you say something? Right. Well, I don't really care if it's pretty. (He shakes his head and hangs up the phone) Gunn, could you make sure that beacon gets shut off as soon as we're done here?"

Gunn: (looking a bit dazed) "Sure thing."

After a few moments, the demon groups leave and quickly disappear. The lights come back on and the crew is left by themselves in Deth's room. Angel, Wesley and Gunn remove themselves to the corner of the room, leaving Spike and Deth to look over their new gifts.

Gunn: "So guys. You gettin' the Christmas vibe like I am?"

Angel: "What, like the three ghosts and Scrooge?"

Gunn: "What is it with you and Scrooge? Naw, man. Pregnant lady, beacon in the sky, kings bearing gifts. We're really only missing a donkey and some hay."

Wesley: "It _is_ a bit of a funny coincidence."

Gunn: "That would be funny, strange—funny, right? 'Cause I'm not laughin'."

Angel: (trying to be dismissive) "There were only two kings. And one didn't even refer to himself as a king at all."

Gunn: "Ok, _that's_ denial."

Wesley: "Let's try to be logical, shall we? The similarities are surely coincidental. And as Angel said, there were only two kings."

The phone rings again. Deth just waits for Angel to pick it up this time.

Angel: (annoyed) "Yeah."

Harmony: "There's a UPS guy here—he's got a package for Deth. Can I send him up?"

Angel: "Can't you just sign for it?"

Harmony: "He says he needs Deth to sign."

Angel: "Fine. Send him up."

They all exchange a look. The UPS guy (complete with brown outfit) sprints up to the door, carrying a medium sized box. He impatiently waits for Deth to sign and then trots off. They walk over to the bed and put the box on the floor. Gunn opens it and pulls out what looks like a large flask. He opens it and takes a sniff.

Gunn: "Water. I think."

Spike takes the flask and confirms.

Wesley: "There's a note."

Angel: "Who's it from?"

Wesley: (scanning the piece of paper) "King Rekka of Teenamon, Africa."

Angel: (surprised) "Human?"

Wesley nods.

Wesley: "He apologizes for not being able to come in person. His country is in the midst of a civil war, which makes traveling difficult. Regardless of the outcome, he assures her—Novaszi—that the deed will be valid."

Gunn: "Deed?"

Wesley: (holding up a separate piece of paper) "Water rights to a river that runs through his kingdom."

Spike: "What she need a river for?"

Wesley: "It says she need only utter this chant over the river water and her child shall have freedom from hunger."

He hands the paper to Deth. She reads the chant aloud, over the flask, then hands it to Spike. He sniffs the top.

Spike: "It's blood."

Angel leans over and smells it. Then takes a taste.

Angel: "Human blood."

Spike: "That's a neat little trick."

Wesley: "Rivers of blood. Not exactly considered a welcome omen."

Gunn: "_Three_ kings. Freedom from poverty, fear and hunger. Looks like the kid is set up."

A look of concern passes between them.

Angel: "I'd better have a look downstairs—make sure things are back on track after the power failure."

Gunn: "I'll find out where the beacon is coming from and shut it off."

Wesley: "I've got some more research to do."

Angel: "We'll meet up in the morning. Everyone could use a bit of rest."

They all leave rather abruptly.

Spike turns to Deth.

Spike: "They're totally freaking out about this."

Deth: "Are you sure we should stay? I don't feel safe here."

Spike: "We need them at the moment. And they do _want_ to do the right thing."

Deth: (not convinced) "Yeah."

End Scene

Tbc...


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Deth continues to reside at Wolfram and Hart in her bizarrely floral accommodations. Despite Angel's reservations, Spike manages to talk his way into spending most nights with her. Angel refuses, however, to exchange the single bed for something more comfortable for two. A way to express his continued frustration, disapproval and perhaps exert a smidge of control over the situation. They make do.

Deth continues to be tense about her confinement. She knows in her gut that her fate will be decided here—by whom she's not so sure. Spike continues to press her to stay—not overtly, but with unspoken gestures to make her feel more at home. She worries that this is a sign of his lingering distrust. Or worse yet, of fear. She no longer asks him to take her away.

Scene 1

Wesley's office. Deth is helping Wesley go through texts, looking for clues about this demon religion that Deth appears to be a part of. In an attempt to keep a tight reign on the information they discover, they've recruited Gunn to help out instead of the usual staff assistants from the firm's library. Even Harmony is there, helping to organize the texts into piles and handling food and drink orders. They don't really expect to find much. Mostly, Deth and Wesley are discussing possibilities—just as they used to do before the pregnancy when they were dealing with some unknown phenomenon or prophesy. The mood is somewhat tense, though Deth and Wes are both enjoying the research and discussion on some level, able to forget for the moment the intimacy of the situation. We come in the middle of a conversation, as they are all flipping through books...

Deth: "A magic word? Seriously?"

Wesley: "That's what it said. Well, wrote."

Gunn: "Did you try 'please'? Just on the off chance, you know. Moms' gotta get that from somewhere."

This elicits a "look" from Wesley.

Wesley: "It suggested I ask you for it."

Deth: (shrugging, almost a smile) "I would have given 'please' a try. (beat, more serious) It's not 'please'."

Wesley: "So you know what it is?"

Deth: "Nope. Just that's it's not 'please'."

Wesley: "Perhaps it will come to you."

Deth: "That's why we're here."

Gunn: "So should I, like, read stuff aloud if I find something good?"

Wesley: "That's the idea."

A few minutes of silence.

Gunn: "Can you give me some key words or something? I'm not even sure if it's a needle we're looking for, you know?"

Wesley: (sigh, as if they hadn't already covered this) "Apocalypse, end-of-the-world, Armageddon, end-of-days."

This gets a pointed look and frown from Gunn to Wes.

Deth: (frowning, deciding to add) "Creation myths, genesis, new era, rebirth, unification."

This has obviously been a point of contention—something they've been discussing.

Gunn: (uncomfortable) "Yeah, that narrows it down."

A few more moments pass. Deth is obviously contemplating something.

Deth: "Why involve humans at all? (Wes looks up from his book with a questioning look) I mean, if it's all about ending the world or some kind of demon, evil revolution, why bring a human into it?"

Wesley: (Thinking about it for a moment, then in classic Wesley detached voice) "Perhaps it's all about the timing. A human girl allowing herself to be impregnated by a demon could be a sign of sufficient moral decay to make such a revolution likely to succeed."

Deth's mouth visibly drops open in shocked amazement. Harmony gasps loudly, covering her mouth. Gunn's eyes widen, as he mutters in his best black girl voice:

Gunn: "No you d'''n't."

Without skipping a beat, Deth casually looks back down at her book and says;

Deth: "I have an idea, Wesley. Why don't you take your sexist woman-blaming Garden-of-Eden bullshit and shove it up your white male protestant ass. (shaking her head) Moral decay."

Wesley: (He can't help but smile slightly—it's the most emotion he has seen out of Deth) "It was just a suggestion."

Gunn: "Don't go there, man."

Deth: "I'm just saying that one culture's Armageddon is another's creation story."

Wesley: "We've already got our fair share of creation myths, so where does that leave humans on that continuum?"

Gunn: "Pizza. Anyone feel like pizza?"

End scene.

Scene 2: Later that night, in Deth's room.

A nurse is getting ready to give Deth her nightly pint of blood. Spike is sitting at the end of the bed, flipping through the channels on the tv, getting frustrated.

Spike: "You'd think the bastard could have splurged for cable. (shaking his head) It's all pants."

Neither one of them are paying much attention to the nurse, who is fumbling a bit. She starts the flow of blood before inserting the needle fully into Deth's catheter—it comes loose immediately and a small stream of blood escapes before the nurse puts the clamp back on the tube. She apologizes and quickly wipes up the blood and begins to re-insert the needle. She's about to unclamp the tube to start the flow.

Spike turns his head to the side—toward the nurse. Something is wrong. He reaches over and yanks the tube, dislodging the needle once again. He grabs the nurse's hand roughly and tosses her away from the bed onto the floor. The needle is now freely streaming blood over the white sheets on the bed.

Spike: (incensed) "S'not right. Something...(He sniffs the blood coloring the sheet—it smells different from her.) It's the wrong type."

Deth: "What?"

Spike: "Check the bag."

Deth has a look at the bag—she scans it until she finds the type listed on the fine print—AB positive. She's O negative.

Deth: "Shit."

Spike: (upset/angry) "Could've killed you."

The nurse is just recovering from being tossed onto the floor. Spike rushes over to her and grabs her by the neck, threateningly.

Nurse: (JUST able to speak, obviously scared) "I'm sorry. I forgot to check the bag. It was in with all of the others. I didn't think..."

In a moment, the security guard from outside bursts through the door. He tries to get Spike to release the nurse—Spike says he won't until Angel gets there. At first the guard protests, but then proceeds to place the call. Angel arrives a few moments later. Spike explains what happened, the security guard takes the nurse away. Deth sits on the edge of the bed, looking a bit freaked. Spike pulls Angel aside, out of Deth's earshot. While they talk, Deth pulls the bloodsoaked sheet from the bed, rolls it into a ball and tosses it in the corner. She lies down on the bare mattress.

Angel: "It could have been mistake."

Spike: "And you could've been an alter boy. It wasn't."

Angel: "We'll change the medical staff. Again."

Spike: "That's great, but what about the others?"

Angel: "What others?"

Spike: "The other attempts on her life—there's been, what, three so far? Four if you count the ice cream truck incident."

Angel: "How'd you know about that?"

Spike: "Don't act so surprised. I do more than faff about, drinking and watching tv while I'm here. Think of me as your own personal Internal Affairs department. Luckily, none of them have made it through the door..."

Angel: "Luck has nothing to do with it. We've got it covered, Spike."

Spike: "Come on. You don't even have control over your own staff. It's only a matter of time."

Angel: (frustrated) "You think it's going to be any better on the outside? Four averted attacks in as many weeks is peanuts. She's safer here than she would be anywhere else. You know that as well as I do."

Spike: (not hiding his skepticism very well) "Yeah, sure."

Angel: (sympathetic) "You can't protect her, Spike. I know you want to, but there's no way you could do it on your own and take care of her, too. (beat) And you can't change the reality of the situation."

Spike: "What reality is that, then?"

Angel: (frowning, not liking the reality himself) "Our job isn't just to protect her. If we can prevent an apocalypse..."

Spike: (interrupting) "Skip the speech, Spock. I get it."

Angel: "We're on the same side, here."

Spike: "Just like the good ol' days, yeah?"

In truth, they've never been on the same side before. Not exactly. Both know this and accept the complexity hidden beneath that kind of statement.

End scene

Scene 3: Angel's office, sometime later.

Angel is alone. He hits the intercom to Harmony's desk.

Angel: "Any luck finding Hamilton?"

Hamilton: "Careful what you wish for."

Angel looks up to find Hamilton standing at other end of his office, casually lifting the blind on one of the windows to have a peek outside. He's dressed as usual in his perfectly pressed suit.

Harmony: "Uh, isn't that..."

Before she finishes, Angel remembers to take his finger off the intercom button. He doesn't skip a beat at Hamilton's sudden appearance.

Angel: "Already with the threats. No "Hi, how've ya' been, how 'bout a cup of coffee.""

Hamilton: "Not a threat. Just seemed to fit. Now that you mention it, coffee sounds scrumptious."

Angel: "Too bad. (awkward pause.) Well?"

Hamilton: "Well what?"

Angel: (sight of frustration) "Oh, I don't know. Thoughts on our little guest living upstairs. Rumor has it, that vampire baby of hers may be of some significance."

Hamilton: "You're the boss."

Angel: "And?"

Hamilton: "And, nothing. You're the boss. It's your call."

Angel: "Why the sudden vote of confidence?"

Hamilton: "Confidence has nothing to do with it. The senior partners are merely..._indifferent_."

Angel: (skeptical) "Indifferent. To the bringer of the next apocalypse."

Hamilton: (shrugs) "They've got other things to hold their attention."

Angel is detecting a hint of uncertainty in Hamilton's demeanor. It's subtle, but there is definitely something tentative in his words.

Angel: "I have a hard time believing that."

Hamilton: (shaking his head) "You just don't have the balls to make the decision yourself. Pathetic, really. You want me to tell you to kill her? Fine, kill her. But I'd do it before the little tyke is born if I were you. Even assuming you've taken the necessary precaution of securing the Ring of Amarrah, things will likely be a bit more complicated if you wait. Or don't. It's your mistake to make, not ours."

Angel: (aha) "Mistake. So you don't know for sure what the senior partners want—or maybe they don't know."

Hamilton: "It's of little concern."

Angel: "You're lying."

Hamilton: "Yep, I think I'm going to go to Starbucks—there's a double espresso with my name on it."

Angel: "You're not going anywhere."

Hamilton: (laughing) "That's cute."

He turns to go, but just as he takes his first steps toward the door, the lights go out. There's a scuffle and some grunting, clanking and muffled protestations. The lights come on and suddenly everyone is in the room—Gunn, Wesley, Illyria. Hamilton has been stuffed inside a box, similar to the one used to contain Pavayne. There is a sock stuffed in his mouth—he's struggling, but he obviously can't move.

Illyria: "That was less than amusing. His power is diminished."

Looking bored, she strolls out of the room.

Wes and Gunn look a bit more disheveled and out of breath.

Angel: "Good work."

Gunn: "Anytime—I miss being the muscle. Or at least a contributing muscle."

Angel walks over to Hamilton and with a superior grin, starts to pull the sock out of his mouth. He stops and says:

Angel: "I'm glad you think we're cute. Just to keep you up to speed, you're in a stasis box—similar to the one we constructed to contain a super-creep named Pavayne a while back. We can pretty much keep you there as long as we want. Forever, in fact. You are immortal, right? Ah, that's great. My personal idea is to toss you into the pacific—let you hang out at the bottom of the sea for a few hundred years. It's a lovely place to spend the summer, really. Therapeutic. Got the idea from an old friend."

He pulls the sock out of Hamilton's mouth.

Hamilton: "The senior partners will never let you get away with this. You have no idea how over-your-heads you are."

Angel: "Yeah, I'm bettin' you haven't heard from them lately—I'd go as far to say they don't give a rat's ass what happens to you right now—wouldn't even notice. That's why you've been laying low."

Hamilton: "What do you want?"

Angel: "The truth."

Hamilton: (snarky) "Can you be more specific?"

Angel: "Novaszi. The baby. Apocalypse or not so much?"

Hamilton: (uncomfortable) "I don't know. (beat) There's disagreement. Last I heard, they were still fighting it out. Some want her dead. Some don't. Some don't care so long as she's under our control."

Wesley: (frowning) "But surely they've been following her existence. They must have had plenty of time to..."

Gunn: (interpreting a look on Hamilton's face; surprised) "They didn't know. Oooh, someone's gonna lose their head over this."

Hamilton: "Heads. An oversight. Her file disappeared. We lost track of the situation."

Wesley: "Or someone was hiding it from them."

Hamilton: (skeptical) "Who has that kind of power? (beat) It was obviously human error. Nothing more."

Angel: "What else?"

Wesley: "What is the nature of their disagreement? What are they arguing over, exactly?"

Hamilton shrugs. Angel threatens with the sock.

Hamilton: "I can't say exactly. It's not as if they let me sit in. I only get what they choose to share with me."

Angel: "Which is?"

Hamilton: "There's some concern over the father."

Switch perspective to watching the action on a television screen—pan back to see Spike sitting on the edge of Deth's bed, watching the scene, sipping a beer. He's rigged the surveillance cameras so he can watch what's happening in Angel's office.

Spike: "It's about bloody time. You'd think that might have come up before."

He turns up the volume with a remote.

Deth: (in bed, mostly asleep, she offers a weak) "wha...?"

Spike: "Nothing, love. Go back to sleep."

Deth: "Hmphsf" and she's out again.

Hamilton: (continuing) "Even those who were believers are questioning the outcome now."

Angel: "Why?"

Hamilton: "Don't know. (offering a possible explanation) Folks tend to get edgy around here when a vampire with a soul is involved in a potentially apocalyptic event. (beat) Anyway, that's all I know. The one thing everyone agrees on is that we need to keep her here. I imagine you feel the same."

They all look at around, uncomfortably.

Spike switches off the screen.

Spike: "Not as such." (turning his head toward Deth, though she is sound asleep) "Best be on our way, pet."

Switch perspective back to Angel's office.

Hamilton: "You going to let me out of this thing? My suit is getting wrinkled."

Angel: "Not for a while. Get comfortable."

End Scene.

Spike would have liked to grab Deth and make their escape the very moment he turned off the live feed from Angel's office. It would have been an ideal time to catch them all off guard. But he was worried about the blood situation—how to get her what she needs. He figured it would take a few days of traveling before there would be an opportunity to get something set up and she was already a bag behind after the whole blood type incident. So he decides to wait until after she has her next transfusion. Maybe even find a way to get them to give her a bit extra to buy them some time.

He won't tell her, not before. You can never be too careful. What chance they have of getting out is entirely based on picking the right moment, and that means taking _everyone_ by surprise.

Scene 4

Deth is sitting in the break room waiting for the signal from Spike. Of course, he doesn't know she's waiting for the signal. She's not supposed to know anything. But how could she not? She'd woken up earlier to find him feigning sleep next to her. She let him pretend a while—it was nice to just _watch_. Alas, his impatience obviously got the better of him and he soon opened his eyes, which had not a hint of sleep lurking behind them. From the moment he spoke, she could tell something had changed—he was suddenly clearer. With a slightly forced devilish grin, he suggested meeting up in their favorite maintenance closet after her transfusion for a little off-the-camera fun. Thrilling as the suggestion was (especially since she'd thought about it EVERY time she'd passed by the door since their previous tryst), she knew it would be completely impossible to get away. _For a shag_. Seeing the skepticism on her face, Spike offered some explanation—he'd take care of the details. But she knew then—knew he was planning their escape. She was so happy, she felt like crying. (Yeah, crying had become an annoyingly regular reflex since that first time. Hormones.) It took everything she had understate her mood.

So in truth, he _was_ expecting her to wait for _A_ signal—just not _THE_ signal.

When Lorne tumbles in to the break room, Deth is eating something from a Tupperware—looks like barely cooked cubes of beef.

Lorne: "Hey punkin'. Looks like your bun is rising. I'll tell ya' if the kid gets Spike's eyes and your disposition, it'll have the world at it's feet!"

Deth just smiles warmly. She'll miss Lorne.

Lorne: "Anyway, with the spirit of giving still fresh in the air, I picked up a little some'n some'n for the little cutie. Empath to empath."

He hands Deth a little gift bag. She puts down her snack and pulls out the tissue paper. Inside is a little t-shirt. It has a cartoon picture of two little kids—one is hovering over a pile of candy wrappers, his mouth covered in chocolate. He's coaxing the other kid to partake in the bounty. The second kid has his hand up, refusing, saying "I can't. My mom reads minds."

Deth: (small laugh) "Cute."

Lorne: "Gave me a little tickle. (looking at her more closely) Well aren't you downright Catherine-Z, all flush and healthy and ready to strut your pregnant self up on the Academy stage."

Deth: "They just tanked me up downstairs. (with a smile) The donor must have been on something. I feel kind of groovy. (beat) That's a song, isn't it? (She searches her memory for the tune and sings it) Feelin' groovy."

The expression on Lorne's face starts to change, but he glances to the side to hide it.

Lorne: "Hum a few bars, kitten. I didn't quite catch it."

Deth: (without thinking) "That's all I know—(singing) 'feelin' groovy'."

Lorne's face totally falls this time. A look of forlorn pity overwhelms his previously cheery expression.

Lorne: (choked up, but trying to hide it) "Simon and Garfunkel—not enough flash for my taste, but you couldn't beat 'em in the harmony department."

As he says this, Deth's expression changes as well. They lock eyes for a moment. Deth looks away quickly.

Lorne: (actual tears in his eyes, but desperately trying to cover) "Sorry. Just having a Shirley MacLaine moment—man that woman can just get in your head and stay there—past lives my ass. More like past possessions. Note to self, call Rosanna Arquette—I found her! Ech, don't listen to me, I've got the babble bug for some reason. I'm sure you've got things to do, so I'll just skeedadle."

Deth: (softly serious) "Don't tell."

Lorne: (starting to protest) "But..."

Deth: (emphatic, but still more like a suggestion than a command) "Don't."

And that's that. He won't. He couldn't.

After Lorne leaves, Deth puts the lid on the Tupperware, which is still half full. She turns toward the refrigerator, but then just tosses it in the trash. She walks through the door to find her ever-present "bodyguard" leaning against the wall just outside. She ignores him, walking on rather aimlessly as he follows a few steps behind. She passes Wesley's office with a quick glance in. She'll miss Wesley, too. Before she gets more than a yard or two down the hallway, Wes pops his head out the door.

Wesley: "Deth, have you seen the Skeartillian text? The one with the encrypted insert?"

Deth: "Sorry."

Wesley: "That's odd. It must be buried somewhere—perhaps you can help me dig around for it later this evening."

She nods without saying anything and continues her ramble through the halls. As she turns the corner into the main foyer, she can hear Spike talking to Angel down the hall. Spike is just inside the doorway to Angel's office.

Spike: (lowered voice) "I'm just saying, if she's going to stay here, you need to be more careful about who has access to her room."

Angel: (annoyed, as usual) "No one has access to her room, except you, me and Wesley. Will you relax?"

Spike: "How do you explain this, then?"

He is holding up some sort of small bug-like device.

Spike: "S'not like the others, is it? Not like _yours_."

Angel takes it and frowns, suddenly looking concerned.

He presses the intercom button.

Angel: "Harmony, get Taylor Higgs from security in my office. Yeah, now. And tell him to assemble his team—we need to talk. (to Spike) Keep her occupied down here for a while and I'll have them do a full sweep."

Spike: "Easy peasy. Just say when."

Angel looks slightly suspicious—he was expecting a bit more badgering and harassment. Or at least an insult or two.

Angel: "Sure."

Spike walks out the door and smiles when he spies Deth only a few steps away. He strolls up, but addresses her bodyguard first.

Spike: "Lurch, a word."

And with that, he pulls the guard aside and they have a hushed conversation that we don't hear. There's obviously some negotiating going on. Spike slips something into the guy's hand. Finally, Spike breaks away and smiling, takes Deth's hand and starts to lead her toward the maintenance closet.

Spike: (to the guard) "So 'bout 30 minutes, then?"

Guard: (scoffing) "Fifteen."

Spike: "Come on, mac. Takes a bit of time to please a lady."

Guard: "Fifteen."

Spike: (annoyed) "Might do for someone like you, but..."

Guard: "Ten."

Spike: (indignant) "You can't be serious."

Deth: (breaking in, pulling Spike's hand) "It's fine. Thanks."

They disappear into the room, as the guard leans against a wall a couple of steps away.

The minute the door is closed behind them, Spike steps to the far side of the closet and moves a stack of boxes out of the way, revealing a hole in the wall.

Spike: "Time to go, pet."

Deth: (without a moment's hesitation) "I'll grab my bag."

Spike: (confused) "Your bag?"

Deth: (as she digs behind a stack of toilet paper rolls) "Hid it here a few hours ago."

Spike: "But, how...?"

Deth just smiles widely, no longer able to contain her elation.

Spike: (shaking his head, amused) "We don't have much time. 'Got the security circus jumping through a hoop or two, but they'll be finished soon enough."

Deth: "Yeah. We should go."

But they both stand there, looking at each other. It's obvious they're both thinking the same thing?

Deth: "So I guess there's not really time for...?"

Spike: (doing some calculations in his head) "Are you wearing knickers?"

Deth: (an affirmative shrug) "Sorry."

Spike: (shaking his head) "Yeah, we'd better go."

Sigh.

Deth: (looking through the hole in the wall) "Where exactly?"

Spike: "Leads to the elevator shaft. We'll jump on top, ride down to the basement and then out through the garage."

Deth frowns, looking down at her now rather enormous belly. Agility is probably not her strong point right about now.

Spike: (anticipating her thoughts) "No worries—just hang on."

And with that, he scoops her up in his arms and heads through the hole.

Switch perspectives to the foyer again. Angel steps up to Harmony's desk. After a glance over toward "Lurch",

Angel: "You seen Spike? I forgot to ask him something."

Harmony: (irritated) "Maintenance closet. AGAIN."

Angel: (getting the implication) "Oh. How long have they been in there?"

Harmony: (defensive) "Like I'm timing it. Whatever. Like I even care." (As she covertly turns off the timer function on her watch.)

Angel: "Wait, did you say 'again'?"

Harmony: "Yeah, he's been in and out of there like five times today. (wistful, almost under her breath) Probably doing something romantic like decorating with candles or flowers or (sniff) candy... "

Angel thinks about this a minute and is suddenly very suspicious.

Angel: "Didn't you think that was something worth mentioning?"

Harmony: "Excuse me, but I seem to remember a certain memo that you refused to sign. It's out of my hands now."

He just shakes his head and rushes over to the door.

Switch perspective to Spike climbing out of the elevator shaft into a basement-type area with Deth in his arms. He sets her down and they start heading towards the garage. Spike picks the lock of the entrance door and they walk out into the open area of the garage. Just as the door swings shut behind them, they're confronted with Angel and the security team.

Spike: "Aw, Fuck."

Angel: "Did you honestly think it would be that easy? I knew you'd come for the Viper. You're predictable, Spike, that's what always gets you."

Spike: "Pshhhw. I wasn't coming for the bloody Viper, you ponce." Ok, so maybe he _was_ initially, but on the way down the elevator shaft, he'd changed his mind and was going to take the beamer.

Deth scans the security force—all human. No way to talk her way out of this one. They've got guns, but there's no way they'd risk firing a bullet with her in the room. There aren't that many of them, but it would be too easy to get separated if they tried to fight.

Angel: "That's it, Spike. Your access is hereby revoked. Why did I ever even consider trusting you?"

Spike: "Come on, Sunshine. You _never_ considered it. It's kind of a thing with us. S'what makes our relationship work."

Angel: "I won't be able to protect you after this."

Spike: "Never would think to ask."

Deth reaches out and grabs Spike's hand.

Angel: (to Deth) "He can't protect you—not alone. Not out there."

Deth: (angry, defensive, uncharacteristically forceful) "I've got more protectors out there than you can imagine."

Angel: (frowning) "Take them upstairs."

As the men move toward Spike and Deth, Illyria drops from the rafters above, landing just in front of them.

Illyria: "You will let them go."

Angel: "You have got to be kidding."

Illyria turns her head slightly toward Spike and tosses him a set of keys. He catches them and takes a closer look.

Spike: "Sorry, mate, Viper it is."

Angel: "Illyria, this is none of your concern."

Illyria: "It is of _little_ concern. Perhaps beneath my concern, and yet I wish it and therefore it must be."

Angel reaches for his phone to call in reinforcements. Illyria instantly kicks it out of his hand. He lunges as if to engage her, but she steps aside, heading toward the men.

Illyria: "I shall kill them all quickly. You cannot stop me. If you wish to try and fail, I shall honor this. They are your _men_." (she adds the emphasis on 'men' with a disgusted curl of the lip)

Spike: "Easy peasy."

Spike pulls Deth toward the cars, as Illyria moves to put herself between them and the men. Deth pulls away for a moment and rushes up to Illyria, whispering something in her ear. Illyria nods and then Spike and Deth take off. Reinforcements arrive and there is some fighting, but Deth and Spike manage to get away.

In the car.

Spike: "What was that about?" (referring to Deth's whisper to Illyria)

Deth: "Something to keep them busy."

Sometime later, Angel, Wes and Gunn are having a conference. Angel is pacing.

Angel: (to Wes) "You've got to get Illyria under control."

Wesley: "You can't be serious. She's not my pet, Angel. I have virtually no influence whatsoever."

Angel: "Well, work on that 'virtually' part and get back to me."

Gunn: "Any ideas on how they managed to disappear so quickly? It's not like they're exactly low profile."

Angel: "They switched cars before they hit the city limits. Or hopped a train."

Wesley: "And based on what Deth said to Angel, they may have a lot of help."

Gunn: "But we're Wolfram and Hart—didn't we, like, invent the underground?"

Angel: "It won't be easy for them to stay hidden, for sure. I doubt they have any better handle on who their friends are than we do."

Gunn: "I hate to bring this up, but do we even know what we want to happen?"

Wesley: "We want to bring her back here."

Gunn: "I get that part, but why? Maybe they're right not to trust us. I seem to remember some discussion of preventing the apocalypse if necessary."

Angel: "What's your point?"

Gunn: "I just think it's hard to make a plan when we don't even know whose side we're on."

Wesley: "Or what the sides are, for that matter."

Angel: "Let's not get carried away with the relativism here. There's good and there's evil. We know which of those sides we're on, right?"

Gunn: "Lets say we find out that Deth's baby IS bringing the next apocalypse. Should we really be in a rush to bring her back here if we end up having to...if the only choice we have is to...(he can't say it)...when it's possible that other evil folks are ready and willing?"

Wesley: "You think we should leave them out there?"

Gunn: "Let nature takes it's course. Maybe. I don't know 'bout ya'll, but I'm not sure I've got what it takes to do the job."

Wesley: "But we'd make absolutely sure it was the right thing to do. There would be no doubt if it were to come to that. But just leaving it to fate—leaving her out there to be murdered by some pack of demons...Well, I don't see how that's any better in the end. Probably worse. Yes, much worse."

Angel: "What if we don't have the luxury to be certain? Maybe there won't be time. (pointed look to Wesley) I won't make that mistake again."

Gunn: "Again?"

Wesley: "Neither will I."

They are interrupted by the appearance of Illyria. Angel immediately calls security.

Gunn: "You've got a lot of nerve showing your face around here."

Angel: "We _will_ imprison you until this is over."

Illyria: (shrugging, bored) "It is of no consequence. My existence here is imprisonment. (turning to Wesley) I have a message for you."

Wesley: "From whom?"

Illyria: "The magic word is _rebyrenok_"

Wesley: "How do you know this?"

She shrugs.

Wesley: "Illyria, are you part of this religion?"

Illyria: "No. After my time. Why would I dream of liberation when my kind ruled? (beat) Deth wished you to know the word."

Wesley: (to Angel and Gunn) "The message implied this may give us access to information about Deth."

Angel: "Let's go."

They all follow Wesley to his office as he retrieves the relevant book. He opens it to the middle and says "rebyrenok". There is a swirling of light and from the pages emerges a small disk made of stone, covered in etchings. It falls to the floor and begins to spin. A holographic image appears of a demon priest—his skin is a deep green and his robes are bright purple (matching his lips). He has relatively humanoid features, though the bones of his face extend backwards into a small crest. His expression is somber initially, but then he looks to the side and speaks to someone who is no longer there in a rather camp, jovial tone.

DP (demon priest): "Is it on? Are we ready? It is? Oh dear."

He clears his throat and goes back to looking deadly serious.

DP: (deep, monotone, booming voice) "Are you The Protector?"

Wesley: "I am."

A few seconds pass before the priest says something.

DP: "If you are The Protector, you must proclaim yourself in order to continue."

Wesley: "I am The Protector."

Angel looks over to Wesley.

Angel: "What _is_ this?"

Wesley: "Some sort of supernatural hologram. An interactive one, it would seem. Fascinating."

DP: (his voice changing back to the camp, jovial) "Oh, I'm so glad. (putting his hands together in a sort of prayerful clap) Exciting times, exciting times! (looking to the side again) What? Yes, yes, I'll get to it. (putting on the "formal" voice again) As The Protector of the Novaszi, you have the privilege of direct information. Choose your questions wisely, as this spell is limited in its power. (off to the side again, camp voice) That hardly seems adequate. Yes, yes, I understand. (back to "formal") You are limited to three answerable questions. (back to "camp" voice, with his hand cupped to the side, as if telling a secret) Or ten minutes, whichever comes first."

Wesley: (glancing toward Angel, who shrugs) "Who are you?"

DP: "Ooh, so glad you asked. (catching himself, trying to be formal again) I am Darneko, last of the Shepherd Priests. We are the carriers of The Word. We await the offspring of the Novaszi to lead us into Paradise. (His intonation changing again, his excitement getting the better of him—with a hand wave) Oh, scrap the formality—It's much too exciting. If you are addressing me, then the Novaszi is pregnant and our salvation will soon be at hand. Oh, how I wish I could see her. Is she beautiful? Oh yes, she must be. Of course. And wise. Yes, very wise she must be. (waving his hand) I apologize. I promised myself I wouldn't get carried away. It's just that we've been waiting for millennia. Of course there have been others—they've come and gone without so much as a glance toward demonkind. We've been so very patient. We knew the time would come. Only the great powers know when the time is right to send her. Only they have the wisdom to see. We are, as always, at their mercy. And now the time is at hand. So many questions left unanswered. Such a deep sorrow to not be alive to see it. (Shaking his head, tears in his eyes) Oh, here I go again. (He takes a deep breath to get himself under control before continuing.) You may wonder why I am the last. It was a powerful and widespread belief—but time erodes all things. So many species, so much divergence. (beat) And perhaps the taboo on the written word was a bit short sighted on our part. (shrugs) It seemed the way to go at the time. Still, they will believe again once they see. It will come to pass. (beat) But I digress. Next question, please."

Wesley: "Why is the Novaszi in need of protection?"

Frown from Angel—NOT the question he would have asked.

DP: "Ah yes. You must have observed that she is born with a life signature that is recognized by almost all demonkind. One of our great accomplishments was to tie this recognition to an innate sense of non-aggression. Once they know her, they cannot wish her harm. This is true even for non-believers. Yes, yes, we're quite proud of that one. But back to your question. Though this protects her throughout her short human life, once she is with child, her signature weakens as her baby's becomes stronger. The recognition becomes less universal. (He stands there a moment, obviously trying to decide whether to say more. Reluctantly,) And, well, there's the possibility that once she is with child, there may be some amount of jealousy or fear from the species or races who are the enemies of the father. Our religion speaks of unity, and we believe that Novaszi's child will treat all equally. Still, there are always skeptics who will spread fear. They may try to kill Novaszi so that another will be called. Perhaps. But this is all speculation. Next question, please."

Angel: (before Wesley has a chance to speak) "Is Novaszi's offspring the bringer of The Apocalypse?"

DP: "I'm sorry, I have not prepared an answer to this question. This could be because 1) the question is unanswerable, 2) I do not understand the question or one of the terms therein or 3) I just didn't feel like preparing an answer to it. I AM a rather moody fellow." (He laughs as he says this.)

Wesley: "Darneko, tell us what you expect the world to be like after Novaszi's child is born."

DP: "Ah, yes. Good question. In truth, I cannot say for sure without further information. We believe that the child, once grown, will bring unity and freedom. We believe that a day will come when demonkind will no longer be kept in the dark recesses of this world. We believe the child will lead us out of the darkness to take our rightful place, after which all species will live in a dynamic harmony. How this will be accomplished will in a good part be determined by the nature of the paternal species. (His eyes get wide with excitement) This is why it's so very thrilling—so many possibilities. Over the millennia, we have discussed the outcome for every potential suitor. Of course, nothing is for certain—the Great Ones, in their wisdom, have chosen to keep the exact details from us. But if you name the paternal species, I will tell you our interpretation of the prophesied account."

Wesley: "Vampire."

DP: "Please repeat your answer."

Wesley: "Vampire."

DP: "If I heard you correctly, you're answer was 'Vampire'. Vampires are half-breeds and cannot, therefore, impregnate Novaszi."

Wesley: "But one did."

This elicits no response from the hologram.

Gunn: "What would happen if a vampire impregnated Novaszi? (to Wes and Angel, in explanation) Don't you guys watch Jeopardy? (shrugs) Form of a question."

DP: (exact repeat) "I'm sorry, I have not prepared an answer to this question. This could be because 1) the question is unanswerable, 2) I do not understand the question or one of the terms therein or 3) I just didn't feel like preparing an answer to it. I AM a rather moody fellow." (He laughs as he says this.)

DP: (looking off to the side, he mumbles to himself "Oh dear") "I'm sorry, but your three questions have been answered and the power of this spell is dwindling. I only have a moment. Please, protect the Novaszi at all costs. She is our salvation. (Getting emotional, off to the side "I just need another moment—don't start the music, I beg you." snerk He speaks quickly) As Protector, you must understand that your responsibility extends beyond the birth. Novaszi must be allowed to nurture the child into adulthood. The times may be difficult—there may be chaos and confusion. The child must survive to rise from the rubble. Novaszi must survive to instruct..." (the hologram cuts out)

Gunn: "Well that was kind of a bust. Not exactly heavy on the detail."

Angel: "I think we heard enough."

Wesley: "But they had no information on what the father being a vampire might mean. They must have considered it an impossibility."

Angel: "Do you really think matters? I'm guessing the differences are a matter of weapon of choice and favorite beverage. All roads lead to Rome, Wes, didn't you get that? We need to stop this thing before it starts."

Gunn: "Just playing devil's advocate here (pun intended?), but if the Senior Partners are split on this, it might not be as clear as all that."

Angel: "The Senior Partners thrive on conflict—even among demons. All the talk of unity may make them a bit nervous."

Wesley: (after a moment of contemplation) "I agree that if the scenario outlined by Darneko comes to pass, it doesn't look terribly good for us--though I did find it interesting that he never once mentioned humans. Still, I think that Spike being the father introduces enough uncertainty to prevent us from making any decision now in terms of Deth's fate. Perhaps we could use our old stand-by criterion to better inform our actions. If the baby has a soul, then we cannot, in good conscience, kill it."

Gunn: "But if it doesn't and we let it be born...I may not be much of a bible-reader, but I do have cable and a thing for Demi Moore. Is there anything to that 'Hall of Souls' business? If so, things may start to get wiggy the minute the baby's born."

Wesley: (shrugging) "There's no way to know for sure. (uncomfortable glance toward Angel) Prophesies are easily misinterpreted."

Gunn: "Can we tell if it has a soul before it's born?"

Wesley: "Maybe. Unless you believe, as some christians do, that the baby's soul enters its body as it is being born and not before."

Angel: (placatory) "So we bring her back in and wait."

They stand there is silence a moment. Wesley is obviously deep in thought—his brow furrowing more deeply with every passing second. He can sense Angel's lack of commitment—his impatience. He looks up, almost surprised to hear himself speak.

Wesley: "I won't kill her, Angel."

Angel: "I wouldn't ask you to."

Wesley: "No. I won't participate at all. If you decide to have Deth killed, I'll walk out of here."

Angel sighs, deeply frustrated. He can't help but be angered Wesley's hesitancy in this situation—he was so quick the last time to believe in prophesies and whisk Connor away.

Angel: "Fine. Walk away. It wouldn't be the first time. Only this time, you'll be going alone."

Gunn: "Did I miss something?"

Wesley: "Yes. Yes you did."

End Scene.

Weeks pass. Angel uses all of Wolfram and Hart's resources to track down Deth and Spike. Thus far, they've had limited success even in tracking them—they pick up the trail only after it's gone cold. It's obvious they're being helped and hidden. Despite Angel's stated goal of bringing them back to W&H, Wesley suspects that as time goes by, he's more likely to give the order to have her killed. He begins to withdraw, spending more time at home.

Deth and Spike have indeed been getting help from various sources. It's difficult to know who to trust—Deth's powers of empathy come and go. She's sure there are others looking for her besides Wolfram and Hart—others wishing her harm. In truth, there are more who would do anything to keep her safe. Not always easy to tell the difference. They must be very careful—even accepting help from those who revere her can be risky, as they have a desire to spread the word. They move constantly, staying underground (literally), sleeping on mats and floors or whatever they are offered. Spike emerges to steal blood from hospitals and clinics. They have what they need to do the transfusions. Still, as the baby grows, it gets more and more difficult to stay on top of things and Deth often finds herself with dwindling energy (and optimism). This isn't the way it was meant to be, she's sure. They don't talk about it. They haven't said a word about the baby since they left. Too busy running, surviving. That said, they've both been doing some research when they can. Deth had smuggled out a book or two from W&H. Spike gets his information from making conversation with anyone who has something to say. They are both woefully reaching the conclusion that things don't look good—at least not from the human perspective.

Scene 5: A cave outside of El Paso, Texas.

Deth is leaning up against the wall of the cave—Spike is hooking up a bag of blood to a make-shift IV stand. When he finishes, he sits back, facing her. You can tell he's itching for a cigarette. Or a beer. He looks tired. They both do.

Deth: "We need to talk."

Spike gets a slightly panicked look on his face, mumbling.

Spike: "Yeah, sure. If you like."

Deth smiles slightly with a small laugh, shaking her head.

Spike: "What?"

Deth: "All men get the exact same expression in response to those words, no matter what the situation. We're talking about the possible end-of-the-world here. There's no need to get that _look_."

Spike: (smiling back now) "You never know with you women. You might have been about to yammer on about 'not dating other people' or 'where's this relationship going?'..."

Deth: "Or 'what were you thinking flirting with that skinny little Cithaero demon back in Flagstaff!"

Spike: "Exactly. A bloke never knows when he might get trapped into talking about such sillyness. (beat) And I wasn't flirting. Perhaps there might have been a lingering glance in the direction of her ass, but..."

Deth playfully throws a handful of sand at him.

Deth: (after a brief pause, back to serious) "What are we going to do _after_?"

Spike: (thinking about it a moment, a bit of a sigh) "I'm not much of a baby person, honestly. They're loud and wriggly and difficult to please. (shaking his head) I won't juggle for it. Or make funny faces or talk in some insipidly twee voice to make it smile. But, you know, I'll help with the rest of it."

Deth: (putting all inspired images out of her mind) "We have to do the right thing."

Spike: (getting it, suddenly somber) "Oh, right."

Deth: "I won't be able to do it. (beat) We may have to..."

Spike: "Maybe not."

Deth: "You _know_ it's not looking good. What I've read—what they say. I can't be responsible. While I'm still thinking clearly, I need to know that we agree."

Spike: "To not let the world end? Yeah, I think we're of one mind on that one."

Deth: "The...(she pushes the word out) _baby_ will have a soul or it won't. Will you be able to tell? (Seeing Spike nod) You'll need to do it right away."

Spike: "Listen, you're right about what _they're_ saying and I trust you know what it says in those books. But take it from me, these things rarely play out they way they're meant to. And the one thing _they_ haven't considered is me. I'm the sort who likes to have his cake and eat it too. I've got some ideas."

Deth: (plaintively, more insistent) "Spike. Could you do it?"

There's a part of her that wishes he'd say no—that cries out in pain at the thought. This is the part she fears will only grow as the time approaches.

Spike: "No worries, love. You leave the world savin' to me."

She nods.

Deth: "How many bags do we have left?"

Spike: "Three. We'll need to head out at sundown. I scoured the city last night. There's some sort of blood shortage—everything is under lock and key."

Deth: (with a forced smile) "On to New Orleans?"

(Author's note: I wrote this before the Hurricane--a bit of a weird coincidence, but no matter...)

Spike: "Sure. Just in time for Mardi Gras. Fantastic crypts they've got—thousands of 'em. Can't bury the dead because the city's so low. It'll be a bugger to find an empty crypt this time of year. Still, it'd be worth it. And near the sea—you can have a swim if you like."

Deth: "Bet I'll get a lot of beads now that I've got such big tits."

Spike: "No doubt. We'll have a grand time."

Deth smiles, warmly. Spike leans over to remove the empty bag of blood.

Deth: "Finish it."

Spike: "What?"

Deth: "The other bags. I want to be awake."

Spike: "We're in Texas, love. The next big town is hours away."

Deth: "We're not going to make it to New Orleans." Her words have a hint of a question in them.

Spike knows this—has for some time. Still, he liked the game and it was a good way to lift her spirits.

Spike: "No."

Deth: "I want to be awake."

Spike nods and gets the other bags. It will take a bit for them to warm up enough. He has a thought.

Spike: "You want to go in to town? Get some real rest?"

Ah, the thought of a real bed and a hot shower and room service—she nods eagerly. He gets up and packs what few things they have. They still have a short time to wait until sunset.

Deth's smile fades slightly as she contemplates something. She needs to tell him. It's not fair to keep it to herself. But saying it out loud releases it and makes it seem so final.

Deth: "You know there won't be an _after_ for me."

He didn't know. Odd as it may seem, it hadn't even occurred to him. He feels his throat tighten.

Spike: (hopeful) "You don't know..."

Deth: (definitive) "I know. I'm sorry."

Spike: (he feels a bit sick) "How?"

Deth: "Lorne. And I can feel it. Wasn't supposed to be." (She shrugs.)

Spike's mind spins.

Spike: (His voice cracking slightly, he says the first thing that comes to into his head) "What are we gonna do?"

Deth: (sitting up, lightening her expression) "Mardi Gras. We haven't done that before, and since we won't see the real thing... We can make Hurricanes and get beads and candy. What else?"

Spike: (trying to play along) "Masks. Maybe some voodoo dolls to set the mood."

Deth closes her eyes and smiles.

In town, Deth is waiting in the car while Spike talks to the hotel staff in search of a room. This is the fifth hotel they've stopped at. Apparently there's a rodeo in town and everything is booked up. Deth starts feeling overheated in the car and waddles her way into the lobby to see how things are going. Spike meets her halfway to the reservation desk.

Deth: "If you tell me there aren't any rooms, I'm seriously going to freak. Now is NOT the time for more biblical coincidences."

Spike: (waving a key) "Honeymoon suite."

Deth's face erupts in an enormous smile and she makes a sound that is the closest thing to a squeal a girl like her could possibly make. Spike looks over his shoulder at the man behind the desk.

Spike: "Cheers, mate."

Seeing Deth's obviously pregnant belly, he raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. Spike scoops her up and heads to the elevator.

A bit later. Deth is sitting on the edge of the bed in a white robe. The empty bags of blood are in a stack on the bedside table. Deth's eyes are bright and her cheeks flush. She's waiting for Spike to return from his shopping trip—supplies for their two-person Mardi Gras parade. She feels good. Good enough to play. Like they used to do before. She smiles as her mind imagines the possibilities...

(edited)

Suddenly her mouth has gone pasty, the moisture drawn away to other regions. She thinks about getting started without him, but then she hears the sound of keys at the door. Her eyes startle open as walks through the threshold carrying a variety of bags. She smiles at him, guiltily.

Spike: "You weren't going to start without me, now, were you?"

Deth: "Did you get beads?"

Spike: "I got it all, pet. Beads, Hurricane mix, masks, bubble bath. Why don't you get the tub ready and I'll fix us some drinks."

We next see them settled in the bath. They're at opposite ends (it's quite large). Deth is wearing one of those feathered eye masks. She's got about five bead-necklaces around her neck—she's sitting up enough so that her perky nipples are poking just above the water. Spike pushes his feather mask up on his head and reaches for his drink. He takes a sip and then relaxes back, taking a long moment to drink in the sight before him.

Spike: "God, your breasts look incredible. Such a perfect shape. I like the way they look, all wet and lined with bubbles. (He bites his lower lip) I've got a shiny gold necklace for you if you let me have a nibble."

Deth: (looking down at her enormous belly poking up from the water) "You may have trouble getting to them."

Spike: "Nonsense. (He makes his way over, kneeling in front of her. He lets his hand skim the surface of her stomach) I think your belly's kind of sexy. 'Cause, you know, you don't get one of those without having done something rather naughty."

She smiles, pulling him closer. He kisses up the line of her belly until he reaches the level of her breasts. He licks his lips again before lifting one breast up with his hand, running his thumb over the top of the areola. She feels a twinge between her legs in response to his touch—her nipples are so very sensitive. He opens his mouth to take in her taught nipple. He gently strokes his tongue from side to side over the tip, as he sucks a bit more of her breast into his mouth. She can't help but whimper. He rhythmically massages her other breast with his hand until that nipple is similarly aroused. He takes his time, tenderly suckling each breast in turn. She feels the ache beginning, the wetness flowing. She lets her head drop back and her eyes close. He pulls away, reaching for something on the floor by the tub—she feels him put another set of beads around her neck. Instead of continuing, he shifts back to the other side of the tub.

Deth: "How many beads do I get if I do something fun with _that_?"

Spike: "Depends. Why don't you come over here and show me."

(more editing...)

He kisses the back of her neck, then starts to nibble and soft-bite her skin. He brushes her hair to the side, running his fingers through it, enjoying the silky feel.

Spike: "You hair's faded. The red. It's gone a bit strawberry. (He leans in to inhale the scent, as if it might actually smell of strawberries.) I'll help you dye it later if you want."

Deth: "Hmmmm. Maybe all red this time. What do you think?"

Spike: "I think it'd be lovely. (beat, in a soft whisper) You're lovely, you know that? You're _my_ lovely."

This is perfect. Just this. Maybe for a bit longer...

But soon, she starts to feel sad—sad that this will end—sad that she can't be Spike's lovely forever. She needs to break away, clear her mind of these thoughts.

(Even MORE editing. Summary: gratuitous rampant sex)

They both collapse with a splash into the water, out of breath. After a moment, Spike reaches out of the tub and brings in their Hurricane glasses. They clink their glasses before taking a drink.

Deth: "Wait, who gets the beads now?"

Spike: "Hm. Don't remember. We'll have to start again."

Hours later, Spike is fast asleep on the bed. Deth is determined not to waste the last of her transfusion energy on sleeping. With her head propped up on her elbow, she watches Spike sleep. As the hours pass, she can feel the blood draining, the tiredness descending like a heavy blanket. She knows she likely won't wake up again, or if she does, it will only be for a few moments here and there. The baby has gotten too big—it takes too much. Giving it those last bags ensured it. But it was worth it—even without this indulgence, she only had a few days more. She thinks about what she'll say. If she decides to wake him at all. She thinks back to all the times she and Spike made fun of deathbed scenes in movies—always so melodramatic and horrible. But now she gets it. What do you say when the end is near? Something cool and cryptic? "Rosebud." Heh. Best not to say anything. Oh, but the desire is so strong. There are things to be said. Right? Vaguely. She thinks about asking him to dump her body in the ocean—away from the demons who would likely want to take possession of her body. How she'd like to just sink to the bottom and be alone with the fishes and corals who don't care at all about her—who don't notice her. She thinks about how horrible it is to leave him with this burden. How horrible it is to leave him. But that's the way the story ends, I guess. She decides not to wake him. She'll pick her favorite memory and...Wait. That's bullshit. (She must have said it out loud, because Spike grunts in his sleep.) This isn't fair.

Deth: "It's bullshit", she says, louder this time. "I _won't_."

She pokes Spike, who opens his eyes, groggily.

Spike: "Sorry, love. Hmpshrf need a minute...re-charge."

Deth: (strong, emphatic) "I'm not ready for this."

Spike: (waking up, he lifts up on his elbows) "What are you on about?"

Deth: (getting worked up, using up too much energy) "I'm not ready to be done. There's too much to do. I don't want life to stop. I won't just stop. That's not who I am. I'm not the martyr type."

Spike sits up straight, hearing the seriousness in her voice. It's odd because she doesn't sound sad at all—just angry and determined. He doesn't quite know how to react—how to comfort her.

Spike: "Me neither, but I bit it to save the world a while back. It seemed surprisingly easy at the time."

Deth: (getting an idea) "You can help me."

Spike: "I thought you said...(getting it) No."

Deth: "It's the only way."

Spike: "It's not a way at all. Come on. Don't be so naïve. You know better."

Deth: "I know it's not the same as living. But it's better than dying."

Spike: "It _is_ dying."

Deth: "It's the only way to have _anything_. Don't you dare be a hypocrite."

Spike: (frowning) "What about the baby?"

Deth: (thinking a moment) "It won't affect things. It's far enough along."

Spike: (skeptical) "How can you be sure?"

Deth: "Some things I just know. (working through the details in her mind) You'll know when it's the right time—you'll be able to sense it, just as you could if you were draining my blood yourself. Once it's done, you'll have to cut the baby out. Best to keep me unconscious in case I try to interfere."

She looks at Spike, pleadingly. He looks away. She adds:

Deth: "I don't expect you to be with me. After. (This is the hardest part for her to fathom and she can't keep her voice from cracking) You couldn't. Not after everything you've done to get where you are. (beat) You can go to her. Try again. I'll just be another vampire."

Spike: (he shakes his head) "You sure this is what you want?"

Deth nods. Spike responds in kind, indicating he'll do it.

Deth: (starting to feel very sleepy) "I don't have much time. (wiping some tears away) We should decide a couple of things. (beat) She should have a name. If only for a few minutes."

Spike: (before he can filter his reaction, he blurts out with an excited smile) "It's a girl?"

He can't stop himself from touching Deth's belly as he says this. He looks up at Deth, eyes eager. This about wrecks her. Seeing her reaction sobers him and his pleased expression quickly fades.

Deth: (nodding) "What was your mother's name?"

Spike: "Anne"

She can tell by the way he says it that he doesn't like the idea of giving the baby this name. It's true. He doesn't like the thought of having to kill his mother a second time.

Deth: (frowning, making light) "A bit bland, isn't it? Did she have a middle name?"

Spike: (laughing a bit at how outdated it sounds) "Charlotte"

Deth: "Charlotte. Like Charlotte's web—always liked that book. She was a spider."

Spike: "Charlotte it is, then."

A few moments pass, Deth's energy dwindling quickly.

Deth: "When I wake up, will I know you? (beat) Will I still love you?"

Despite herself, she thinks it might be better if she didn't.

Spike: "Maybe."

Though he knows from past experience that the chances are slim.

Deth: "Will you talk to me—while I'm changing? I'll be less afraid if I can hear you."

It almost breaks his heart to hear this—she really doesn't understand, does she? But maybe it will be different for her. Maybe. It doesn't hurt to pretend.

Spike: "Sure, love. Every minute."

Deth: (her eyes start to flutter) "I'll try to hear you. I'll try to stay."

He nods, his expression suddenly melancholy.

End scene.

Scene 6

Spike is carrying an unconscious Deth down an underground corridor of some sort. It looks like an abandoned train tunnel. He walks until he comes to a door—the kind of maintenance doors you see in transportation tunnels periodically. But this door is lined with Christmas lights and there is a Welcome mat in front. He knocks. A few seconds pass before the door is opened, revealing a wrinkly-faced demon with long, floppy ears and red eyes. When he sees Spike in the doorway, he takes his free hand (the other is holding a box of snacks) and rubs his eyes.

Clem: "Spike? I heard you were dead. More dead. Burned up in a fiery blaze."

Spike: "You heard right, but your source is outdated. You know I'm not one to let a little thing like being reduced to a pile of ash keep me down. Mind if we come in for a spell?"

Clem: (embarrassed) "Oof, how rude of me. Come in, come in." (With a beaconing wave.)

Spike steps through the door to find a small room, equipped with a tiny TV, an assortment of cactus plants, a couch and a mini-refrigerator. He sets Deth down on the couch, putting a pillow beneath her head.

Clem: "Sooo. How's re-animation treatin' ya'?"

Spike: "Not bad. Bit of a slow start, but once things get going..."

Clem: "They just roll right over ya', believe me I know! Listen, can I offer you some chips? They make low-salt Bugles now—the old ones were tasty, but they made me kind of puffy."

Spike: "Listen, Clem, I need you to do me a favor. I need you to look after my girl here for a bit."

Clem: (looking over towards Deth) "Oh, so she's not just lunch then. Sorry, I forgot you jumped off the blood wagon a while back. Kind of relieved, actually. I'm a bit squeamish. (giving her a closer look) She's sort of pretty. A bit thick in the middle, but aren't we all (patting his belly)."

Spike: "She's pregnant, Clem."

Clem: "Ooh. Right. (his eyes go wide, slightly panicked) She's not going to have the baby here, is she? 'Cause I don't think I could take the sight of all that blood. And I _just_ cleaned."

Spike: "Nah. She's got days to go."

Clem: "Phew. You...(shaking his finger at Spike)...you had me worried there for a minute."

Spike: "The thing is, I need to track down a guy—probably take me the better part of a day, maybe less. We've got some people lookin' for us, so we need to keep a low profile"

Clem: (shaking his head, knowingly) "As usual."

Spike: "You'll look after her, then?"

Clem: "Is she sleeping? What should I do when she wakes up? She could be afraid—I have been known to give people quite a start."

Spike: "She won't wake up. She's actually turning."

Clem: "Turning? As in, into a vampire? (nod from Spike) Oh gosh, Spike. I don't know. Girl vampires don't like me. They can be really mean."

Spike: "No worries, mate. She's got another 12 hours to go. At least. And I'm sure she'd like you."

Clem: (wary) "I guess. I do owe you still. Ok, I'll do it."

Spike: "Thanks, Clem, you're the best. Oh, and one more thing."

Clem: "What's that?"

Spike: "Talk to her."

Clem: "But she's unconscious."

Spike: "You talk to your plants, don't you?"

Clem: "It helps them grow. Burt and Ernie over there used to be HALF that size. Then I started reading to them and shazam, they're growing like weeds."

Spike: "They _are_ weeds, Clem."

Clem: "Oh, pshaw (with dismissive hand wave). I'll talk to her...well, I'll talk to Burt and Ernie and she can listen in."

Spike: "Thanks."

Spike leaves and Clem looks uneasily over at Deth.

Spike returns to pick up Deth about 8 hours later. He takes her to what he deems a "safe" place, underground and hidden away. He readies the room, preparing for the "birth". She had actually started to wake up a few hours before, but he gave her a sedative to keep her down. He has assembled the usual things—mattress, sheets, a tub of water, a large knife, a bottle of blood, etc. Once everything is set, Spike waves someone into the room—he's some sort of robe-wearing shaman-type demon.

Spike: "You know what to do? You're sure?"

The shaman nods.

Spike: "Here we go. No time like the present."

Without hesitating another moment, Spike takes the knife and begins to cut through Deth's belly. He's careful not to look at her face. He reaches in and after some struggling, pulls out the baby, which is covered in blood and goo. The baby's eyes are still closed and it doesn't cry. Spike focuses a moment on the baby's face and then sighs, frowning. There's no soul. He leans back onto his knees, defeated. As he does this, the room starts to shake. He turns to the shaman and nods.

Spike: "Guess that's it then—we move on to Plan B."

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He mumbles to himself: "Not like it made a bloody difference anyhow, right?"

The shaman walks over and begins to chant. The room continues to shake and rubble starts to fall. He holds his hand over the baby. There is much swirling of light and then nothing. The room goes still. The shaman backs away, his head down and quickly disappears. The silence is broken by the cry of the baby. Spike shakes his head, as if dislodging cob-webs in his brain. He opens and shuts his eyes a few times.

Spike: "That's a relief, let me tell you. Time to take care of your mummie and get you on your way, little girl."

He cleans them up as best he can and wraps the baby. He prepares a little box with blankets and tucks a note inside (written the previous day).

Next we see is the box with the baby, sitting in a doorway. We hear the sound of the doorbell ringing and subsequent footsteps towards it (almost in time with the footsteps away from it). The door opens and we see a rough-looking Wesley in a robe, carrying a glass full of some type of alcohol. He looks around, then hearing the crying, finds the box with the baby.

Wesley: "What have we here?"

He leans over and pulls back the top blanket, revealing the baby with a bottle full of blood tucked next to its little body. It looks human, mostly, except for the deeply yellow eyes and hint of a small ridge between her little eyes. No teeth yet, of course, but two tiny raised bumps on her gums indicate the future presence of vampire fangs. She has a gold chain around her neck with the Ring of Amarrah hanging as a charm. Wesley looks around cautiously before picking her up. The instant she's in his arms, she stops crying. He can't help but smile. He goes to reach for the bottle of blood, but realizes he's still carrying the tumbler of scotch from inside. He looks at it a moment and then tosses is onto the sidewalk, smashing it, before picking up the bottle and heading inside.

Once inside, he unfolds the note and reads it.

"Dear Wesley.

Only have a minute...

Her name is Charlotte. She was born without a soul, but you'll soon discover she is now adequately endowed in that regard. I gave her the only thing of value I had. A more than fair trade, assuming the guy I hired to do the job knows his stuff. But if all went as planned, I won't be very keen to spend my days changing nappies, so that's where you come in. Keep her safe. Deth isn't quite herself anymore, so I'll do my best to keep her away. Don't think she'll have much interest anyway.

Oh, and tell Angel I'm one up now, for sure. And he can have his bloody Shanshu and good riddance and no need to worry that they'll get us confused anymore—he's back to being THE vampire with a soul, bloody self-righteous wanker. And maybe tell him I'm sorry for leaving him alone in that. Or just flip him the bird—more to the point and easier to understand.

Cheers,

Spike"

Switch to Spike driving a car, on the way out of town. Deth is crumpled in the front seat next to him. She's waking up. She looks around, confused. Obviously out-of-it.

Deth: (looking down at the bandages) "Have I been sick?"

Spike: "Yes, very."

Deth: "But I'm all better now."

Spike: "Near enough."

Deth: "I feel like I'm forgetting something important. I feel like..."

Spike: "Rest, love. We can talk about it all later."

He touches the side of her face, affectionately.

Deth: "Where are we going?"

Spike: "New Orleans."

She appears to contemplate this a moment before responding.

Deth: "Good. I quite fancy a swim."

THE END


End file.
